


[HELIX]

by UsagiShipper



Category: BuzzFeed Violet (Short Films), Buzzfeed The Try Guys (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Alpha Andrew, Alpha!Andrew, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Breathplay, Buzzfeed, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Fast kiss, Gay Sex, Humiliation, I don't know what his real-life sexuality is but I'm assuming he's straight, I like to do a lot of teasing until they finally fuck, I'm not sure yet, Light BDSM, M/M, MAYBE it's going to have pet play, Master/Pet, Name-Calling, Omega!Original Character, Original Character(s), POV First Person, POV Original Character, Rough Sex, Sensation Play, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow burn until sex, So Andrew is bisexual in this, Teasing, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Bondage, Verbal Humiliation, Verbal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 44,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UsagiShipper/pseuds/UsagiShipper
Summary: When almost accepting the fact that his life was going to be an endless boredom, Mike Chester gets a job at BuzzFeed. A place different from everything he has seen before. This is where he stumbles across Andrew—a man with mysterious intentions—, who's ready to make Mike's life go into a complete helix.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction which isn't based on a cartoon. I've been procrastinating a lot lately watching BuzzFeed videos and I started developing a crush on Andrew Ilnyckyj. So I began creating a lot of dirty stuff in my mind while thinking about him and when I saw it I already had a full-length story that I need to put into paper so I can put my mind to rest.  
> I hope you guys identify yourselves with "Mike Chester" and have a good time with him... and, of course, with him and Andrew later.  
> (I'm open to beta readers).

_I can't take it anymore._

Are the exact words that cross my mind while I lay onto my bed, gazing at the same cracked ceiling of my bedroom which I'm so tired of seeing every single day. I can't cope with the fact that my life will always be  _this_  boring.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

Can something just happen already? I mean, something different.

I roll on my bed, almost throwing a childish tantrum when I stare at the seductive glowing rectangle that greets me with hope. My laptop. For the last years of my existence, this machine has been my only ticket out of my daily boredom. Since my teenage phase, I've been obsessed with spending countless hours just sited in front of it, reading online stories which made my routine a little more fun, thrilling and exciting.

But it was only after I started writing those fictional stories myself that I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Storytelling. Elaborating stories far from my normal is literally the only way I've found to escape all of my infelicities.

I went to college four years ago to achieve my degree in English. That was fun. But it wasn't enough to jerk me completely out of my neutral personal journey.

I'm poor as fuck.

That's it.

Jobless.

It's not like a big deal anyway. As a boy from America's countryside, coming from a humble family, being broke is not a goal... is a prerequisite.

But I wanted to leave this type of life. Leave like, literally leave. For good. That's why I did my best in high school to left Kentucky and get into a university in Los Angeles. The big city is a mess, but I love it. What I don't love is the constant feeling that, even though I'm in a city like this one, where everything seems unique, whimsical and fun, I don't feel any much of a difference in myself.  
I'm still this dull, penniless bundle of annoyance.

At least I pay my rent.

How? You may ask knowing very well that I said I got no job.

Well, I got...  _something_.

I'm not sure I can call it a job, but it prevents me of getting thrown out of my apartment complex. Is that type of job that you lie to your family about.

Let's say I do some  _photographs_  and there are people online that really like them and always give me money in order to see more of it.

They are pictures...

Of my body.

I know, but a swear I'm not a hooker. I don't even show my face on it and I'm very careful about that stuff.

I have a Tumblr account where I do it. I log on it right now, getting myself reading to a whole new show.

People come from every part of the globe in order to see me, they always come in DM telling me how they want to give me "gifts" and stuff and I gratefully accept them giving my PayPal link. Although I may look like a camwhore celebrity, I'm not that big of a deal; as I said, my financials aren't glamorous, neither is my body or my... "artistics" presentations.

For real, I don't think I look that good as my "public" says I am. But I do it anyway because, from what I saw in the tumblr fetish community, there are every kind of perverts out there; so it's not hard or surprising if a whole bunch of people comes praising you even though your body isn't what society usually considers to fit in order to sell. You know what I mean?

On the flipside, I have a public blog where I post my professional works, they are usually short stories, stupid poems with no real audience... even though I wish it was my real job. I love creating and recreating, and I've already sent my resume to a lot of publishers and I still got no answer.

After finishing my nude pics of the day, I close my browser and sigh, getting back into my usual activity of curling up on a ball under my blankets and loathing my lack of a better luck in life.

Ah... nothing as a good daily self-deploration!

Between the blackout of my covers, I can see the final glimpse of the sun sinking down in the skyline through my windowpane. Its rays glimmer on the sharp tips of the buildings of the city, slicing orange locks of light above my white sheets.  
This place looks so full of beauty -- shiny and promisingly grandness... the complete opposite of how I feel inside.

 _Maybe I should go out_ , I think to myself.  _Maybe the fuss of the world will make me a little better like it sometimes does_.

I grab my wallet and computer, leaving my apartment. I go down the fire stairs since they look way more fun than the conventional staircase... or I just don't want to lose my time meeting with a neighbor and having to make small talk. I cross the loud streets and reach for the closest coffee shop. Once inside, I go about how cool would it be if my prince charming just stumbled on me in this place, just like in the internet stories I read. Don't get me wrong, it's just that I haven't had a proper friend since college, it would be cool to have someone, you know? A friend... a real intimate friend... like a  _real_  close friend, really... okay--a  _boyfriend_  even. It would be nice, all right!

Unfortunately, this isn't one of my fanfictions. And those things don't happen in real-life, like, never.

Just saying.

"Just a standard cappuccino, please," I ask politely when my turn in the line comes.

"Coming up, sir!" says the girl behind the balcony, making my receipt. "What's your name again?"

"Mike."

"Okay, Mike. Just wait for a while, yes?"

While waiting for my coffee, I stare at the door with intensity, thinking again about the fanfic logic. This is the time that some super famous boy band singer is supposed to just casually walk in.

 _Okay, so Harry Styles is coming through riiiiiiight..._  I wait for the right moment,  _now!_

The bell above the door tolls and my heart skips but is no Harry Styles, just a random kid.

_Well, at least I can dream._

I shrug.

"Mike!" Someone calls. "Mike Chester!"

"Here," I say, getting close and grabbing my drink.

After sitting again and sipping my cappuccino, I try finishing writing a chapter of my on-going novella. Writer's block sucks. I give up trying to break the huge white wall on my mind that is that empty page and go procrastinate to my e-mail box.  
The first thing I see is "BuzzFeed".

 _Great, I sure do love spam_ , I think, even though I find it so weird since I'm not a reader of this website, so I'm not subscribed to their newsletter.

I open the message, automatically trying to find the unsubscribe button when I notice something off. This e-mail isn't designed as a promotional text. It's just plain text, as a personal message, like someone actually wrote it.

It's just getting weirder as I see my name on top of it all.

"Dear, Mr. Chester..."

I start reading it.

While I do, my heart starts swelling oddly and my insides freeze, my mouth agape.

"What the fuck?!" I literally say aloud, since I need it to believe it. Some people stare, but I don't care. "How...?"

Well, Harry Styles didn't come to see me, but something did happen just as shocking.

"Did I just get a job at BuzzFeed?!"


	2. 2

_Did I dream that?_  I ask myself the next morning, resting by the threshold of the open window of my messy living room. The day is grey and mellow, like as the whole town hasn't woke up yet.

I oblige myself to walk back to my desk to check it one more time.

_Yep. It stills there._

I stand still, observing the e-mail like it is an alien being. The feeling inside of me is quizzical. My physique acts like it's trying to make sense of something that it has never come across before, it's almost the same feeling you have as you're trying to solve a math problem from a test you didn't study for.

I can't lie, this is a situation I've not been trained for.

 _I need to sit down... again._  And I do it, leaving the page and getting back to my Tumblr dashboard. I stagnate again under the view of the pornographic feed.  _Could I have a normal job? W-Would this work?_

The weird thing is (like any of the rest of it isn't weird enough), I didn't send my resume to this company. In the text, they say they found me while reading one of my works in my poetry/novelist blog. They used the term "fascinated" to describe their experience. But how I am supposed to use any of my storytelling skills to work in a variety news platform? It doesn't make a single sense.

Well they say I can call one of them if I have any questions...  _Should I?_

Better question,  _I want to?_

Maybe I should just call.

Grabbing my phone, I decide to call on of the numbers they left me on the e-mail. I chose the one labeled 'Hannah'; no reason why though, since I don't know about any of the people who publically work in this group.

It starts with calling for a long time. It doesn't surprise me, it's more early than the expected for me to be doing this. This girl must be still on her way to work.

"Hello?" She picks up on the other side of the line, her voice still obviously sleepy.

"Hm... hi. Forgive me for calling so early. I'm Mike Chester... I received a message from you guys..." I mentally groan at the sound of my voice, I look like an awkward teenager that doesn't know how to talk on the phone.

"It is related to work?" she asks.

"Yes, it is."

"Just wait a second."

"Ok."

From the sound that comes from the other side, she seems to go through some paperwork, flipping pages until she finally stops and goes back to talking to me:

"Oh, yeah. Mike! We want to see you, yes!"

This is probably the most informal job call I've ever had, she already goes into calling me by my first name in a joyful tone of voice.

"And what is your demand with my work, exactly?" I ask again, trying to keep it as polite as possible.

"Writing, of course! We want you to work on your creative research department, doing the usual BuzzFeed stuff, ya'know? Blog posts about Disney princess, food, memes..."

 _This is definitely not how I picture my dream job to be_ , I avoid the urge to sigh.

"Oh... interesting," I say until I don't figure out the best way to decline a job offer through the phone.

"Can you meet us in person?" She continues with her too excited voice for someone who apparently just got out of bed. "We wanted you to make a job test."

"A 'job test'?"

"Yes, I mean, in here we already guarantee that the job is 100% yours if you want it. So, in order to make you be sure if you wanna work here, we make what we call a job test. You come to our headquarters for a day or two, making simple tasks and getting to know your possible workplace and future co-workers. See it as a car test drive, but much cooler."

"Oh... okay!"  _I think I can do this. It doesn't hurt to try when is not official yet._  "And when can I start doing this?"

"Today. If you want to."

"Today?"  _I'm never busy doing anything, whatever._  "All right. Today seems fine."

"Great! Wait a second, I'm going to give you what do you need to know..."

After chatting for a longer time, Hannah gives me the address and some other details, like what I should wear and such.

When I finally hang up, I stand, going to my room to find any clean laundry--a hard task for someone who lives by himself without leaving his house ever.

The only thing that keeps me relaxed is the fact that Hannah told me that the company's dressing code it's pretty much free as it is a creative environment, "I just don't recommend you going naked," her exact words, "but if you want to, for example, come on your PJ's that's 100% fine with us!"

Of course, I'm not going with my body clothes. Even though I'm not that into this job, I kinda feel the need of dressing better in my so to speak 'first day'.

The only clean thing I can find is a t-shirt. There's a cat montage on it, a lot of cats with their faces stuffed on toasts while they float in a colorful galaxy. It just seems to scream professionalism in the BuzzFeed's standards to me.

_Perfect!_

I take it, along with some old jeans and checkered slippers, and let it on my bed as

I go to my bath.

_Afterall, what can possibly go wrong?_


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this fic, there are going to be some people which I know aren't working at BuzzFeed anymore. But we can all pretend, right? Just as well as we do pretend that Andrew is hella gay.

After taking the train and overcoming the absurd traffic of people and vehicles of the downtown of LA, I finally manage to find the building. It is way bigger than it seemed to be on google images. I start to get overwhelmed and my breathing gets heavier.

_Am I really ready for doing this?_

I try doing breathing exercises to ease my anxiety. It's so weird that I still find myself like this after living for four years straight in the big city. Of course, my psychological weaknesses got smaller over time, but they still show up from time to time. Mostly in times like this one, where a have to face a new challenge.

Wow, I never expected that having a desired life change would be this stressful!

I get to what it seems to be the main door. Suddenly I realize that I don't have any idea of where I should go, or for who I should look for. I get a glimpse of shining hair coming out of the side of the door. It is a blue hair. It's a woman, she seems to be trying to dial someone on her phone, while fidgeting with her purse and walking from side to side. I approach her.

"Hm... excuse me."

She glances over me, uneasy.

"Yes?" She puts her hand over the speaker.

"Do you work here? Can you help me?"

"And you are...?"

"Chester."

Before I can say anymore, her eyes widen over me and she gasps, surprised. Her physiognomy goes from neutral to excite in a matter of seconds.

"Holy shit!" she says, as casual as to say a 'good morning' in the workplace. "It's you!"

"You know me?"

"Yes! I'm the one who talked with you on the phone earlier," she immediately puts her iPhone away, her attention fully focused on me. "I don't think we were properly presented at each other before."

She reaches her hand at me.

"I'm Williams. Hannah Williams. Your soon to be co-worker... hopefully." She smiles widely, everything about her seems shiny. She looks like the type of person that would act as the very own sun even during the most cloudy days.

I greet her with a handshake.

"I think you already know my name, isn't that so, Ms. Williams?"

"I sure do. And, please, Mike! Don't you 'Ms.' me! It's Hannah for you," she jokes in a playful serious voice, "or even Han' if you feel like it."

"Hannah is fine, thanks!" I smile back, laughing in a discreet way, happy to be treated this way, like a long-time colleague and not a stranger. Her sunny excitement seems to be contagious.

"So let's go! I have so much to show you..." She holds the door for me, beckoning.

As I get inside, my astonishment just gets bigger and bigger. This place... it is...  _something_. I mean, I haven't worked in an office before, but I sure do know that this one is supposed to be way different from what they usually are. Hannah leads me to a huge room which seems to take over the most part of the building. It extends itself into a distance that I can't even see where it ends. There is the most unusual type of furniture around me — pods, ping-pong tables, small-sized trampolines and I'm pretty sure I see a life-sized connect-4 around here somewhere —, it looks way much like the kid's playground of a pizzeria than a firm. In the middle of it all, without a certain order or arrangement, are the working desks that go all the way through this cheerful pandemonium.

"Suprised?" Hannah asks when she notices my clenched jaw that avoids my mouth of falling open.

"Yeah. This is... wow!"

"Pretty common reaction, it's not like the Google headquarters but it  _is_  impressive," she shrugs, pretending to be indifferent to my reaction when I can pretty much say she's proud. "Welcome to the main office, this where the most part of us work all day long. You included."

She gestures my way to follow her to someplace elsewhere. As I do, I notice the sequence of names printed on stickers that go continuously on a set of glass doors. There are names like  _Henri, Maru, Grumpy_... "—Wait," I stop, catching her attention, "those are the names of internet cat celebrities?"

"It is!" she nods, clearly happy of witnessing my recognition. "Those are our individual rooms, every single one of them has the name of a famous cat from the web."

And then, I see myself inside a room full of food. Like, every kind of food. Cookies, biscuits, bread, snacks, candy... all filling to the top huge plastics jars that are all around me.

"And, lastly, this is our so seductive called 'Snack Room'. Working here, you can have everything you want, how much you want, at any time you want!"

"Ok, forget the office, now  _that's_  impressive!" I say exactly what goes on my mind right this moment.

"I know, right!" Hannah clapped.

"Anything else?" I ask, already waiting to see what more this real-life Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory has to offer.

"Not for now," she replies. "There's way more to see on the upper levels, but it's not the right time for you to see it yet. Well... at least while you still aren't an official employee."

She guides me back to the main room. As she does, we stumble across a vending machine of drinks. My eyes immediately dart, and widens with shock, to the beer buttons at the top.

"Are you guys allowed to have alcohol on BuzzFeed?" I whisper very low to her, almost like I'm saying something forbidden.

"Yes, we are," she answers, mimicking my tone, "but not too much, _ya'know_?" And she winks at my astonish face jokingly.

"What are we doing now?"

"You need to meet the group in which you were selected to work today."

"And that is?"

"Well, it doesn't have to do with writing this time, but I am  _very_  sure that you're fit for the job," she says, glancing me over her shoulder. She seems to find something about me funny, I just don't laugh back because I don't know what it is. I'm almost ready to ask her what did that means when she cuts right in: "By the way, I've read your work. I fell in love hard for it, especially your short stories. I love the element of surprise that you make at the end of each one of them."

"Oh... T-Thanks," I feel shy out of nowhere. I haven't been complimented on my writing since uni. "I like the idea of the unexpected."

"I see," she nods, and we're back to the main room. I follow her through the maze of desks and toys. "Here we are," Hannah says to me right before she shouts to the circle of people that gatherers by one of the corners: "He's here everyone!"

The announcement puts me off guard and I almost stumble in my own feet. All the three people in the group and the rest of the workroom seems to be looking at me now.

"The newcomer?" a guy asks lifting his eyes from the computer screen and his small round glasses.

"The 'test drive' newcomer, Zach," Hannah corrects, reaching for her sit. "Mike, please, to your desk."

All I hear is a bunch of 'hi's and questions at once, I try my best to reply everybody but I can't.

A girl with Asian facial traces looks at me and my clothes and smiles, saying:

"I think you picked the perfect man for the job, Hannah."

"I did, didn't I, Ashly?"

"Why?" Is all I can say at the moment.

Zach points at my galactic kitty t-shirt.

"We're working on a post about cat viral videos," Hannah finally explains it to me.

"Ohh...!" I almost facepalm myself. "Wait, does this means I would get for watching cat videos the whole day? This is probably the best job ever."

Some nod, some laugh. Whatever they are, I'm glad since all of their reactions seems positive.

"Come and sit with us, Mike. You place is right here," Ashly points towards an empty chair in front of an open computer.

As I sit, I feel totally comfortable in my chair, almost like I'm used to sitting in here every day. The computer also feels familiar in my hand, like it belonged to me all along.

It's only when I stop to analyze my desk is that I see something different.

There's a small piece of paper attached to a plastic holder that marks my place. And there's something written on it:

'Mickey'

 _I guess I already have a job nickname_ , I reflect and can't help but smile.

All of this — the welcoming, the place, the opportunity — switches on me something singular that I haven't felt in a really, really long time.

 _They gave me a nickname_ , I repeat to myself again.

It's something cozy that swells right from the bottom of my chest.

It feels good.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's worth saying again that I'm open to anyone who's interested in beta reading this.  
> Have a nice read!

By the end of the afternoon, we gather to watch to our final project. Our cat-video compilation. It looks really great, more than someone would expect from an internet cat compilation. We laugh a lot, almost proud of ourselves for the result.

And then, Hannah call it a day and we leave the office along with Zach and Ashly.

"We should definitely go out. I mean, all of us," Ashly suggests at Hannah in the way out.

"But we  _are_  going, Ash," she remarks. "Tomorrow's office party, are you having memory problems?"

"I meant a few of us, not everyone," she scoffs. "Anyway, I need to go, see you guys tomorrow!"

"Bye!" We all say together.

After completely leaving, she turns again and says to me: "Oh, and, Mike, I really hope you stay."

"Ah. Thank you," I give a genuine smile at her consideration.

"Same!" says Zach by my side. "A lot of newcomers take time to fit in, but you have been here for an afternoon and feels like you have been here the whole year."

"Oh, please," I'm starting to think this complimenting train has gone too far.

"I'm meaning it, dude," Zach laughs. "Whatever, I need to grab my car before the streets get worse."

"Yes, you go do that," I rush him out of the picture, he rolls his eyes to me and then his gone after saying goodbye at Hannah.

Once alone with her, she starts, "How are you going home?"

"Train, my buddy."

"Train?!" She gives me an incredulous look. "At this hour? It must be hell."

"It is, but I don't care," and I really don't.

"You're crazy, _pff!_  C'mon, I'm giving you a ride." She starts to scramble through her purse, looking for her keys.

"Oh, there's no need to—"

"Yes, there is. Get in the car or you're already fired even before being admitted." She quips.

"Well, can't argue with that."

"So get in the car, cat boy!"

~

"So you live downtown? It must be so noisy," she comments already driving on the streets.

"It feels like silence once you get used to it."

"Actually, this makes it even better for me. I'm actually picking my kids at school, it must be close to your home."

I almost choke.

"Do you have kids?!"

"Two little boys. They're so cute, you're gonna love them! Well, not if they start loving you sooner..."

Oh, my! She seems so young...

"How old you are?" I say before realizing how intrusive it is and regretting it immediately.

Instead of seeming mad or even slight disturbed she only scoffs at me and say, "I knew this was coming. That's okay. I'm 28."

"Wow...!"

"What? Too far from you?"

"Not really, I'm 24."

"Now  _that's_  a 'wow!', you seem way younger! Like a high school senior!"

The car stops close to the colorful kindergarten painted walls. Yes, it is close to home. I've come across this place before. Hannah unlocks the doors and her sons promptly jump into the backseat.

"How was it today, pumpkins?"

The boys soon start mumbling so many stuff that seems random to me, talking about a whole bunch of things and happenings without a proper chronological order at the same time. Kid's doing. However, their mother seems to be able to follow them perfectly, like they spoke another language that only her understands it — since she replies them from time to time with unironic 'oh, my's and 'really?'s.

They only stop when they catch the unfamiliar sight of me on the passenger seat. They both get confusingly silent, glancing at me with curiosity.

"Who's dat?" says one.

"Jackson, Wyatt, this is Mike, our new buddy. Be nice to him," Hannah explains, never taking her eyes from the traffic.

"How's it going, boys?" I grimace at them, trying to be playful.

The kids go back at being overly excited and jumpy at my greeting, I'm assuming they get this from their mom.

"Oh, Uncle Mickey! Howdy!"

"Uncle Mickey, your t-shirt look so cool! Can I have one like this, mum?"

I smile, turning to Hannah, "Looks like I'm an uncle now."

"You have no choice." She waves her finger at me, suppressing a guffaw.

I catch the corners of my apartment emerging from the end of the street. That's it for me.

I get out of the car when Hannah parks by, "Thank you for the ride. Really. I don't know how to thank you better," I say through the open window.

"Oh, stop it, man. It was nothing, I was picking my kids!"

"Whatever, this was very nice of you. Picking a stranger and being polite to a possible ax-murderer."

"Axe-murderers don't wear toast-floating-kitties-in-space t-shirts... I hope."

"Same," I step aside.

"Hey, Mike," she calls me back. Once I turn my face to hers, I see her mask of joyfulness melt, giving space to an impressive sincere, serious looking physiognomy, just as her voice now sounds: "I hope you make the  _right_  choice."

I feel numb.

I bearly know her, but I can perfectly picture myself being friends with Hannah right now. I could reply with something simple and ambiguous that would not reveal my feelings towards today's experience, like an 'okay' or 'I'll see', but instead I say:

"I hope I do, too."

She nods, getting the vehicle back on. I wave her kids goodbye and she goes on.  
Then I'm left alone again.

As I get inside home, I head for my laptop. I lift its screen and it shines back at me. At this moment, I can only find the light too bright and annoying in contrast to the rest of my gloomy apartment.

I check my Tumblr, thinking about making a new nude photo session when I stop to read an re-read the compliments that I receive in my inbox from horny followers.

Instantly, I catch myself comparing them to all of the other compliments I've received this afternoon from the BuzzFeed gang.

And, with that, I close down the screen again.

Something different sloshes inside of me.

In a burst of bravery, I get up to call Hannah and give her the news.


	5. 5

"Oh. My. God!" is the first thing she screams when she sees me the next morning in the waiting room. "Look at you! I can't believe you're actually going to work with us!"

"Yes. I think I'll," I flush.

"Yes! I so fucking knew that you were the one! Everyone is going to be so excited...!"

When we get close to the office, she puts her hand in front of me, avoiding myself of getting further, "First of all, the boring part. Your contract." There she goes into her bag again. "Even this seems so exciting, it's almost like you're about to sign your marriage papers!"

She takes out a brown folder and passes it to me with along with a pen.

I take a minute or two to go raw through the paperwork. All right, I guess this is it. I use the wall as a table surface and sign it.

"No turning back now," I say, giving it back to her.

"Yay!" She controls her excitement by whispering her cheering.

Once we get to the office, she pulls me into one of the individual rooms instead. We walk in the one labeled  _Maru_. As soon as I get inside I notice an older guy, ginger-like hair, and beard, typing on his laptop and sipping his coffee while also going through some paperwork above a plain white round table.

"Ken, do we still have any badges left?" Hannah asks him.

His eyes go from her to me and he gently smiles, kinda surprised:

"Newcomer?" he asks.

"Huhum," I hummer.

"Kenny Moffitt," he stands up to greet me. I reach my hand to him, but instead of a handshake, I get a fist bump. "Nice to meet you."

"Well, pleasure. Mike Chester." I analyze his body language. It doesn't take a genius to discover that Kenny plays on the same field as I do. From our first meeting, only one thing is for sure between us:  _he's gay as fuck_. And he instantly seems to know about me, too, which I like.

He opens a drawer close by and takes out of it a blank badge and a permanent sharpie. "What should I write? 'Mike', just 'Chester' or both?"

"Mike," I say.

"Mickey!" Hannah interjects immediately.

"Hm, no?" I contradict.

"Hm,  _yes_? Kenny! I'm your superior, write it as 'Mickey' right now or you'll suffer the consequences."

"'Mickey' it is," Kenny chuckles, writing it along with a pair of Mickey Mouse ears by the end of the letters. "There you go," he gives it to me.

"Thanks."

"Now, come. You need to know the rest of the people as your first official day!" She pushes me straight to the working place, letting Moffitt laughing by himself again in his room before he can say anything else.

Ashly and Zach seem shocked at seeing me again.

"Are you staying?!" They both shout along.

"Yes, I am." I flick on the badge attached to my shirt to grab their attention. Speaking of my shirt, I'm in a less spunky look today. Just a regular old black tee.

"Oh, my god!" Ashly turns on her chair, her hands over her mouth, kinda reclusive. "Welcome!"

"You  _need_  to be at our party tonight!" Zach quickly sprints in speech.

"Yes! Speaking of it," Ashly now starts talking to Zach only, "do you know if Andrew is going?"

"No idea, why?" He frowns.

"He should go. Like, really should."

"You're right, even more now that there's a new guy in office for him to meet..."

They continue to talk, but I don't stay to hear the rest. Hannah straddles me to the rest of the room while saying, "Well, Mike, today we have something special for you to do as your first day. I think you'll enjoy since it has to do with writing."

"What is it?"

"You're working with the video group today. They are discussing a new YouTube short film. I'm sure you can help them with the script. What do you think?"

"This sounds perfect, Hannah. Thank you."

She guides me to the staircase and I finally arrive on the second floor. There's nothing much to see here besides a coffee machine and a huge glass meeting room which holds three people inside.

After letting me inside, Hannah disappears and I'm by myself with three distinctive personas. There's a girl standing, wearing a black and white striped sweater with a pleated skirt; her eyes are beaming under her dark long straight hair and bangs. The boys sitting by her side are a skinny blondie and one with a curly brown hair and stubble, having a more defined body.

"Nice meeting you, Mike," the girl says; her voice sounds calm, soft and patient as the rest of her personality seems to be. "We didn't expect to have a newcomer so soon, but it's great that you're here with us. My name is Allison Raskin, and those are Zack Evans," she points towards the blondie that makes an air salute at me saying 'yo!', "But everyone here calls him Evans to avoid any mistakes with Zach. And this one is Shane."

"Whitaker," he finishes his own last name, nodding at me fiercely.

I don't why, but I suddenly feel so awkward.

"Please, have a sit," Allison helps me. "We're talking about the next short movie theme. It's going to be about 'the perks of being an introverted'. We are still in the brainstorming phase, so don't be shy and feel free to give any ideas that come to mind. Anything is considered valid to us during this stage and can end up being helpful later."

"Okay," I sit down.

~

The meeting is over, and I feel so ready to grab something down at the Snack Room. The end of the morning period and the whole afternoon discussing the possible plot for the film was... kinda fun actually. Allison, Zack and Shane are cool, and I think I did fine for my first time. I was a little bit tense and frustrated because I'm not used of having to make creative ideas come by force into my mind since everything I've made to this day has been purely organic.

Anyway, I'm ready to eat something and head back home when I see Hannah again by the food room, drinking coffee.

"How's your day?" I ask.

"How's  _your_  day? I must say."

"Really nice, thanks." My eyes scan the absurd amount of food around me and feel absolutely conflicted about what to eat.

As if reading my mind like an open book, Hannah comments in a discreet helpful way, "Those cookies are awesome, though."

"I'm having some," I go for the plate and the cookie jar. We eat in silence. The cookies indeed  _are_  awesome; they almost taste like something homemade or from a bakery instead of brought at some random Target convenience store.

Kenny sprints into the room, waging his empty mug with a funny desperate expression.

"Coffee." He says harshly.

"Too bad, I drank what was left from it." Hannah shrugs.

He stops at her, "You bitch."

"Sorry. You got two options: or do another cup yourself or grab it upstairs," she says while leaving.

Kenny automatically glares at me, and decides, "I'm staying here."

"Fine," she shrugs again and before leaving calls me, "oh, Mike, when you finish I'll be waiting for you outside."

"Sure."

Once she's gone, Ken starts, "Did it hurt, Mickey Mouse?"

"It didn't, Kenny. Thankfully."

"In which department are you working?" He starts to prepare the coffee powder.

"Today, video making it seems."

"Cool, I hope you're enjoying it."

"I am. This is great."

"Hey," he stops pouring hot water on his mug and stares at me, "if you need anything, anything at all, just go to me, okay?... or Hannah, after all, she's our manager, whatever."

" _Noice_."

I finish biting my last cookie, and he breaks my chance of leaving without saying anything by speaking, "Am I going to see you at the party tonight?"

"I... don't know," I say sincerely. Zach did call me early, but I assume this is him being polite since no one gave me an address or anything. So I won't even bother.

"It would be... ' _noice_ ' if you did go."

"Yeah, I guess so." Before the silence in the room gets more awkward, I finish,

"Anyway, I'll see you soon."

"You can say that again."

I get out, heading to the door.

~

I'm on Hannah's car again. I don't even try the recline her offer this time since I already know her enough to know that she wouldn't let me, and would get really offended if I insist not to. However, I'm already worried if this end up turning in to a habit; like, how am I going to say to her when I don't want her picking me up anymore?

"By the way," she says, "you  _are_  going to that party, whether you like it or not."

"Okay." As before, I don't contradict. I know if I do she'll get me at the own house and pull me out of there by force. Or maybe there's just a small part of me that really wants to get to know these people better and be a part of their circle... just maybe.

"It's going to be perfect for you, way easier for bonding with everyone."

"Where is it going to happen?"

"It is at this house that the company has. It's by a boulevard on the outskirts. Don't worry about it, though. I'm picking you at ten, a little early because I'm helping the guys set it all up. But I can't say the same about riding you back home, you know what I'm saying?" She gives me a smug look. "You're on your own on this task."

 _A house at a boulevard of LA's outskirts_ , only the sound of it screams fanciness, what immediately influences my next question: "What should I wear?"

"Pff! It's nothing fancy at all, believe me. Just try hard to evoke the most casual you."

"All right," I gaze the tumultuous traffic outside, thinking about all of this.

A party is okay. It seems okay. I mean, everything will end up fine just as it has been to this moment.

Nothing wrong or dramatic will go down tonight _... right?_


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike goes to the BuzzFeed party and, despite his hopes, something dramatic does happen. Andrew arrives.

I choose my red flannel as my outfit for the night, along with the same jeans I've been using for the last two days and a pair of black Converses. While looking at myself in my foggy mirror, I can't help but think of how average I look.

I should stop. It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone.

However, everyone in my new job seems so... unique and singular in some shape or form while I just feel... I don't know what to feel.

This all just makes me pay more attention to my physical traits. My super short black hair, my perfect round face along with my cheeks that flush so easily that always seems to be red. There's nothing fancy about my eyes either, just black and bland. I can't say much about my body, too; it's a normal looking shape, I have a tummy, but I'm not fat or skinny. Looks like something in between. Just, you know... normal.

I'm not complaining or anything, by the way. I'm pretty much okay with how I look, I just sometimes didn't want to seem like another brick on the wall. I bet there's a lot of people around there that looks just like me.

Well, at least there's one distinctive thing about my own look. I got freckles. Yeah. Super weird for someone who's far from blonde or ginger... that's why I like them so much. Unfortunately, my easiness for blushing hides them the most part of the time. It's so annoying, people practically never notice it, and when they do they think they are pimples or similar.

 _Ugh!_ , I repress my urge to groan even though I'm by myself.

My phone rings and I don't even need to pick up to know Hannah is already outside. I see her nice car parked in my alley.

I go downstairs, heading for the vehicle.

"Oh, thank god!" She looks genuine and extremely relieved as soon as she sees me after unlocking the door.

"What?"

"I'm so glad I didn't pick  _my_  red flannel, or we would look like twins!"

I grimace, getting into my seat.

"Actually..." a quipped wicked smile crosses her face, "now I'm thinking about how awesome would be if we both dressed the same. Please, let's do this sometime!"

I roll my eyes, sighing in a friendly way, "Fine, Hannah."

"Yay! That's why you're the one, Mickey!" and turns the key again on the ignition.

On the road, I stop to observe her outfit. A cute blouse, shorts, and stilettos—pretty casual, just as she said a couple hours ago. Great.

And then we get to the extreme fancy part of Los Angeles, where everything looks brighter than the sun and sea waves.

"Here we are," says Hannah.

"Wait, this is the  _house_?" It's way bigger, luxurious and intimidating than I expected it to be.

"Yep, suit yourself," she hops out and I stay inside under the spell of my own shock.  _What did I get myself into tonight?_

Hannah asks me to help her with some boxes in the back of the car, and I can finally leave my catatonic state in order to promptly do so.

We walk in the front lawn, holding cardboard boxes while heading to the main entrance. This might seems cliche, but even the grass looks to be greener. There are already people inside, working on the party light.

Hannah opens the door, I don't even need to say in inside looks better than the outside. We stumble to four distinctive people, the only one I know is Zach, I'm still waiting to be presented to the other boys. As we get close, Hannah greets, "I see that you guys are getting the hang for it. You learned how to turn on the lights, that's a start."

"Oh, don't even start, Han." The tallest one snickers at her.

"Aw, love you, too, Keith!"

"And who's this little guy?" The so-called Keith gets a hold of my presence.

"He's the new one I talked about," says Zach.

"Ooohh!" The three unknown dudes stop doing their chores and go to me at the very second, it's like I'm the president or something.

"I'm Keith Habersberger," says the taller reaching his huge slender hand at me, "nice to meet you."

"Same," I say sympathetically. "Mike Chester."

"Eugene Lee Yang," says the second one which, just like Ashly, holds Asian traces. "Zach told us so much about you."

"All the good things, I hope," I grimace.

"Well,  _mostly_ ," he teases, already perfectly pinpointing my type of humor.

Lastly, "Ned Fulmer," he says, gesturing. Just by standing under his presence, I can automatically pick on his witty personality. "I hope you enjoy your stay at this madhouse."

They get back into talking between themselves, and, studying their interaction, I can feel how close they are to each other. Like long-term friendship, not just work colleagues. It feels nice to see them like this, their chemistry seems undeniably impressive and contagious. I feel like I could watch they snickering and laughing at each other all day long.

Too bad I can't stay to appreciate more since Hannah leads me to the kitchen to unpack the goods.

Everything around me looks and smells clean and sterilized, almost as if I've entered in one of those display homes in department stores. Everything just seems to be so flawlessly arranged in the room.

We put the boxes over the counter with a heavy sigh, Hannah opens one of them, the glass bottles satisfyingly clattering by her movements in a soft sound as she rumbles through it, looking for right one.

"There I go," she grabs herself a bottle of a labelless half-drank wine and a proper glass from under the counter.

"Actually, can you give one of those? I love prosecco."

She stops, almost dropping her wineglass and shooting me a shocked glance. After some seconds of what seems an incredulous silence, she says, "Do you  _know_  which wine this is?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Are you a wine expert or something?"

"No, I just like drinking it," I say. "I know it's a prosecco because of the size of the bottle. It is smaller to avoid the bubbles of going out before someone finishes drinking it, right?"

"Oh, my god!" She shrieks, but in an exciting way. "I can't believe it! Have you been stalking me? Are you trying to impress me or something?"

I give her a puzzled look.

"No, why?"

"Because I'm like one of those wine obsessed people and everyone knows that. There's 'wine-enthusiast' written on my fucking resume for god's sake! I even have a series on the BuzzFeed's YouTube channel called 'Wine Mom'."

"You're kidding," I chuckle.

"I'm not!—okay, you know what?" She immediately bends down to grab another glass and slide it to me. "I think you and I are going to work  _very_  well together, Mickey. I mean it."

"I hope so," I grab my wine glass and see Hannah pouring the drink to me just after pouring to herself.

"This calls for a toast. By now I'm sure you noticed that this isn't going to be an ordinary job, right?"

I nod solemnly.

"Right!" she says, raising her cup. "So I guess we can say, here's to your  _new life_ , Mike. And the beginning of what seems to be a very promising friendship."

I click glasses with her. She gulps down her whole drink in an impressive matter of seconds. My mouth falls and I widen my eyes at her with shock.

"What?" She looks at me, pretending to be offended. "This is a party!"

Later, I finish helping my newest friend organize the paper plates, cups and the platters of nachos and chips. The music is already on and giving me the impression of banging the walls of the house back and forth. The chatter of the living room and exterior are muffled by the melody, but it soon starts getting louder as more and more coworkers arrive.

I decide to go greet them, because, as the bottom of my wine glass gets more visible to me every time I look for a sip, I feel the need of being social.

Most of them don't even go to BuzzFeed. They are mostly wives, husbands, girlfriends, and boyfriends of workers. I have a nice chat with Ned's and Keith's wives about living in LA—I discover that we went to the same college, however during different periods of time and for doing different majors. They are really nice. Actually, I can't remember the last time which people were this nice to me. During college it was just fine, people were polite, sure, but it still had that weird prominent atmosphere of high school...  _tut_.

Now I'm sitting by one of the couches that just happen to lay around the outside area, glancing the people for a certain distance and answering questions when questioned. This is when Ashly shows up and sits by my side.

"Having fun yet?" She says, dismissing a proper 'hello'.

I was already going to reply when Hannah just bursts into the picture, tipping on her own feet. I can tell she's already tipsy when she looks at us, laughing about anything and everything at the same time.

"Have you guys seen Andrew around here yet?" She shouts in order to her voice get to us through the invisible loud waves of music.

"He didn't even say anything about coming here, Han'" says Ashly.

" _Lol_ , I don't even know who this Andrew guy is!" I can't help but laugh at Hannah's drunkenness.

She smiles from ear to eat at me and then turns to Ashly, "This guy is great, really! Why didn't we hire him sooner?"

Ashly shrugs all shy, "No idea."

Hannah gets close to me, putting her palms between my cheeks and squeezing them, looking deeply into my eyes. "Where have you been during all this time?!" She says in a dramatic funny note.

"Being miserable," I reply, being more honest than she can imagine.

She laughs again and says to me, "Gotta find Andrew! You guys  _need_  to meet! You're gonna love him! He's so great!"

I roll my eyes.

"That's it! Gotta do something else!" She turns to the crowd, leaving as she screams to the rest of the party: "Have anyone seen my left shoe?!?!"

"Can you believe that!" Ashly gets back into small talking me.

"I've seen way worse in college."

I notice the familiar presence of Kenny getting closer. I gulp down the rest of my wine.

"You need to refill that, bud'?" He asks me when sitting by my side, between me and Ash, jangling the bottle.

"Huhum," I hummer at him just as I did in the morning, and pass him the glass.

"There you go," he gives it back to me and I pretend not to notice his—quote on quote—discreet finger accidentally sliding across mine when a hold the cup.

 _Can't you be more a little more obvious about hitting on me, 'bud'? I didn't get it yet._  The passive-aggressive ironic part of me pleads for this to be said, but I stay shut.

"Oh, leave the boy alone, Moffitt," Shane comes from behind the couch, hugging Kenny's head.

"Oh, shut up, Whitaker!"

Although it may seem like, I know this two are only bickering with each other. They seem really intimate for some reason.

"Just you wait when Andrew get here. I'm getting you fired in no time."

_Here we go with this Andrew again. What's so special about this guy anyway?_

"Oh, yeah?" Kenny pretends to be tired like he already has heard Shane say that a billion times.

"Wait until he knows that you are  _harassing_  the new employees again!"

"I ain't harassing shit!"

"Yes, you are, pervert!"

"Well it worked with you back in the day," Ken mumbles under his breath teasingly.

"Say that to my face again!"

Ok, I'm tired of those two pretending to fight. I crane my neck to see introverted Ashly distracted by the other end of the sofa.

"Hey, Ash," I call her in a whisper, she turns at me immediately, her cute light pink dress glimmers under the pitch blackness of the night. "I'm going to grab some food, wanna come?"

"Sure, let's!" And we stand up together. She seems really grateful for being taken into consideration by me in my sneaky escape.

The IAMMEDIC song  _Get Back Home_  finishes and starts a new one,  _Take me Home_  by Bryce Vine.  _Gosh, I love this song!_  I hide my urge to dance to it as we get to the food table.

"Who chose this song?" I ask Ashly, curious to know who here has the music taste similar to mine.

"Oh, this is Andrew's flash drive playlist for all I know."

_Of course._

I eat more nachos and fries along with Ashly until I distract myself by watching a single light that dances around the road some miles ahead coming through the small ajar glass window. Car lights. I'm not sure if it is someone else coming to the party or just a random person. Anyway, it seems way closer to the front lawn. Maybe it's the so-called 'Andrew'.

"Where are you?" Hannah's voice sounds behind my back and I turn around. She's—trying—to talk with someone on the phone, but she can't since the music is too loud and she's too drunk. "What do you mean you 'can't park'?! Just park anywhere!"

She beckons me for some strange reason (I can't figure out where do I fit in on her problem right now), and I say, "Excuse me," to Ash before leaving her.

"What is it?" I ask Hannah.

"You know what? We're just going there to help you out," she's still talking on the phone, then she hangs up and pulls me by the arm away from everybody. "Andrew is a big baby who still doesn't know how to park," she explains the situation in her own way.

We left the party center, getting further into the expansive house and letting the whole noise behind us. It feels almost like silence now, the music is nothing more than a faint vibration on the walls by my side and the floor under my feet.

Hannah stops suddenly, glancing at the staircase in front of us that leads to the main hall and door. She looks at me with a dumb pissed-at-herself expression and I get it immediately.

"You're not getting down this, are you?" I say.

"I literally can't right now, Mike. I'm sorry," she can't stop laughing all of the sudden.

I roll my eyes, "Fine, I'll go."

"Thank you! I'll be waiting on the other side of the house."

And she goes back.

I guess is only me and Andrew now.

When I go downstairs, I'm already going for the doorknob when it starts twisting.

This is when he walks in.

The first thing I notice is, well... I'm not sure since I'm not the type of person that cautiously watches spare details of a person's body, it all comes at once for me. I see everything and nothing at all. And the only thing I immediately know is a sure one: he's cute.

I mean, like, unbelievably cute. Far from it, I don't even know if there's a word to describe him properly... something that describes an ambivalent force of cuteness and hotness, ignition and peacefulness. Caos and order. 'Glamours'... maybe? _Oh my gosh, I think I'm already tipsy myself._

Anyway, he is so fine.

At the sight of me, he stops, as if something out of place has caught him off guard, and his clear yellow-grayish eyes study me from head to toe, searching for something that I can't quite put my finger on it. Once eye to eye, he smirks at me in a way that I've never seen anyone do before. Like he already knows me his whole life, like I was an old childhood friend of his and he was just making sure of it.

And then, he says:

"Hello there."

Damn, his voice is deep. So profound that, when it goes through my ears, echoes inside my head, like it has a life of its own, walking inside of me.

"H-Hm... hi." I suddenly feel so small and insecure at the exposition of his disorienting aura. It even kinda scares me, really.

"So...  _it's you_. You're here. You came."

"I did," I manage to smile—gosh! I can't help but think about how pathetic I must look close to this guy.  _Is my hair okay? Do my clothes look good on me? Does—_

"And what are you thinking at this point?" His voice brings me back to reality, I don't even know why I abruptly got so stuck into questioning my own appearance to another person.

"Well, it feels like being the new kid in school all over again." I chuckle, I suddenly feel embarrassed in a way that I'm not used to or even understand why.

He doesn't laugh back. However, there's something in him that tells me for sure he's more than pleased with my sense of humor, and it makes me grandly grateful for some reason. Maybe is his smirk that grows wider, threatening to open a full smile—something I instantly know it's not a common act for him.

His arms crossed above his plain light blue button shirt, his blonde-like hair draping by the side of his rigid face, and his legs firm on the ground.

I stop staring too much as soon as see what I'm doing, already scared of making him uncomfortable.

I can't help to ask myself,  _who is him?_  I know his name is Andrew and all, but in which department does he work? I haven't seen him anywhere before.

_Where have you been that you didn't get here sooner?_

_Wait—Ugh! Is this my drunk mind already making a cameo?_

"Not very good at parking, I see," I tease, already curious to get to know his boundaries of joking with someone he just met.

"Yes. This is one bad aspect of me that I'm not ashamed of hiding. Which I don't think it's so unfortunate," he uncrosses his arms, closing the door and going towards me slowly, "after all, I believe my good aspects can make up for it. There are things that I'm very good at."

_What an odd response. Actually, what an odd whole conversation that we're having._

"Yeah, like what?"

Once I ask, he looks directly at my eyes again, and I can't avoid locking mine on his as well. I can see by the wrinkles of his expression how hard he's trying not to smile.

_Is he trying to be impersonal on purpose? Why? Does he think it is going to be considered unpolite by me? Or does he just doesn't want to give me the wrong impression?_

"You've got plenty of time to get to know me, Mr. Chester."

_Ouch!_

Now that's a shocker. He's the first and only one to ever call me by the last name until now. And putting the 'Mr.' in front of it all? What the fuck? Does he actually work with the rest of the office at BuzzFeed? The only thing that avoids me of thinking he got into the wrong happy hour meeting is the fact that he knows my name.

Once his chest it's almost touching me, I step aside so he can walk up the stairs. I stay for a little bit down there, thinking about god knows why when he looks back to see if I'm behind him. Andrew tilts his head at me and says gesturing to the upper level, "Are you coming?"


	7. 7

Everyone seems to love Andrew.

I stay by the couch with the company of my half empty glass of wine, entertaining myself with the swirls of the blood like liquid while I wait for the attention focus on the middle of the area to disperse.

The moon seems to glow brighter once he arrives as if making a spotlight over him.

I glance at the scene in front of me: every single one of them are greeting him with inside jokes and friendly remarks, while all I got earlier was an awkward exchange of words. I don't know why I suddenly feel like this, zoomed out of everything.

While thinking about it, I arrive at a conclusion:

Maybe it's because I want his attention? No, not the attention he's getting, but the attention he's  _giving_. In a weird turn of events, maybe there's a part of me now that doesn't want to be friends with those people to feel included with them, but to actually make inside jokes and friendly remarks with Andrew as well.

Why?

Oh, my god. I feel so weird with all of this. Maybe I should stop drinking for now.

But once I think about the way this weird looking guy sucked all of the eyes of this party for him again, I chug down the rest of my wine, already reaching for its bottle on the floor.

I start scrolling down on my phone once I notice that this personal reunion it's going to take a while. I have a ton of comments and remarks in my Tumblr pictures. I get into replying them, but it all seems so monotonous and automatic while I do—but this inside world feels way better than the outside now. At least in my self-porno blog, Andrew is not included.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

I shiver as the already unmistakable hard voice of his hits my surroundings, jerking me away from my fugue state.

"I am," I say, not expanding the conversation further. However, he stills there, by himself now, holding an open can of beer while looking down at me with an impermeable mask.

"Can we talk? I don't think we got to know each other properly."

I don't say anything back, I don't know why though. I think the booze is making my brain work slower... or maybe is only Andrew's requests which I can't seem to take as pacific or hostile.

_Or maybe is how nice he looks..._

_Oh, won't you stop it already?! The last thing I want right now is a crush in the work I've been going only for two days. You don't even know who he is, or, even less, if he's compromised or gay even! For god's sake, Mike, get your shit together!_

"The seat is taken," I lie... I think.

"Oh, yeah? By whom?"

I didn't think about this part. But is when an idea comes to me.

"Kenny."

I'm not sure if I'm already tripping or not, but I swear to catch his shoulders lightly stiffening as he acknowledges that name. It's the only miserable detritus of reaction I can get from him.

"Well, he's not here now. And he seemed to be very busy the last time I saw him."

We stay eyeing each other, and I'm about to give up and give him space to seat when Hannah pipes between us.

"I've got an idea! Gather inside everyone!" And she looks at me intensely. "That's for  _you_ , Mike! You need to play this game."

"All right," I jump up, following her, feeling some kind of weird relief when I do.

"Andrew, you, too! You're not escaping this one!" She calls him over the shoulder.

 _Dammit?..._  I don't know how to pick if Andrew going with us as a good or bad thing... or if I want him to go or not.

I get inside the main room, some people are sitting in a circle of plastic chairs, armchairs, and the sofa. Hannah takes the last spot on the couch and what's left for me and Andrew is only two options: an armchair or a recliner... both side to side.

_Oh._

I sit on the armchair only to notice Kenny right by my left side.

_Oh!_

When Andrew finally sits in his place, everyone stays silent, as if Hannah was going to make a big announcement. And, then, she finally grins and reveals it to us:

"We're playing truth or dare."

_Oh, fuck my ass!_

Some sigh, undeniably dissatisfied, Ashly mostly. "Really, Hannah? How old are you?"

"28, but that's beside the point." She swats at her friend, obviously still smashed.

"Really nice from you, Han'. Of course, let's play embarrassing the newcomer." Andrew suddenly scolds in a snap that genuinely feels real. His first—finally—strong, solid reaction impresses me, even more, because it was because of me... indirectly, of course, but yeah.

"What?" She rhetorically asks as if no one is getting her point. "In this way, he will not only tell us about himself, but he also gets to know about his co-workers!"

"That's really clever of you, Hannah," Andrew says on his recliner, shaking his beer on his hand before taking it to his lips.

"Well, thank you, 'Drew!"

"I mean,  _really_  considerative."

"Ok, that's enough. Let's get this motherfucking party started! Shall we?" She allows herself to spin the bottle first, and, believe it or not, it lands on me. "See?!" She points at the weird convenience. "This is  _des-ti-ny_!"

"Just ask already." Says Kenny annoyed.

"Okay, all right!  _Geez_... Then, 'newcomer', truth or dare?"

"Truth. Always." I say.

"So,  _Mickey_ , let's begin with a real mature-adult question: are you gay?"

Everyone around me laughs playfully at her.

"Yes, I am," I reply, casually getting into the joke, "super gay, 100% homosexual, full-time dick lover!"

The whole room burst into laughter but Andrew, who muffles a chuckle—enough to make me feel proud of myself.

"All right, that's great!" says Hannah. "Now, since the beans have been spilled, do you already have an office-crush? C'mon I'm married, but let's be honest: there's a lot of eye-candy, isn't it?" She arches her eyebrow, suggestive.

"Uhhh..." the whole group teases in unison.

As soon as the question is settled, with my peripheral sense, I literally  _feel_  Andrew's magnetic gaze over me. ( _What the hell is wrong with me today?_ ) Unlike the others, his eyes don't hold any hopeful, curious look. Instead, he glances me unpretentiously calm and secured; it's almost like he already knew the answer to this question all along.

Oh my god, am I this obvious? Or... is he this perceptive? Or maybe he just knows how attractive he must look to most people...

Even with my sudden mental break, I manage to keep my composure the best as I can, saying at Hannah:

"Nah! One question at a time, that's the rules," I grab the bottle, spinning it.

It lands on someone which I take a while to guess who is until I remember her. It's Allison, the one I'm working with currently. She looks different under her make-up.

"Truth or dare, Allison?"

"I'll go with truth as well." She responds in her soft voice.

I need to think for a moment, but it doesn't take much for me to come with something.

"Please, be honest." I plead.

"I'm always honest to anybody, Mike."

"Sure. How do you think I did on the job today?" It is something that I would really like to know from her.

She smiles tenderly.

"You did well. I believe you can be a really thoughtful guy so to speak."

That's all I need to know. Raskin bends to complete her turn at spinning it. The bottle ends up pointing at Shane.

"Dare," he rushes even before Allison has her chance to ask. "I'm never spilling any beans to any of you guys." He prompts himself, everybody rolls their eyes.

"Since you like being the center of attention, you can most likely take your shirt off as well." Allison snickers at him.

"Great idea!" He says and pulls it off in two seconds, everybody groans and he laughs out loud. "Best dare ever, thank you, Alli."

It lands next to Hannah.

"Truth, because I'm lazy for doing dares." She says.

"How many glasses of wine did you have?"

"Ah, just seven...teen."

The guilty casual way she says it makes me laugh hard by myself, what attracts glances from everyone, including Andrew. I stop at the same instance.  _Did Andrew think it sounded dumb as it sounded like for me?_  I pray to god for not be blushing as well.

Hannah spins the bottle without even moving from the sofa, using the left toe of the still shoeless foot of hers.

Lands on Kenny.

"Truth?" He arches an eyebrow in uncertainty.

"Why do you need another boyfriend, Ken?"

"Okay, Hannah. That's enough." Ashly, which is by her side, warns her seriously as if it was a delicate subject.

"All right, sorry. Don't need to answer, though, just asking."

Kenny just spins it without saying a thing. Is Ashly's turn.

"Truth," she says.

"Do you like Andrew?"

_What?_

"What?" She grimaces, not getting a thing. "Why?"

"You only shoot videos with him if you're playing the part of his girlfriend or wife."

"You know that's only acting. There are even gay people working with us playing the part of straight people in the films. It doesn't mean anything."

She spins it and it lands on me. She gives a silent 'yay!', and asks: "Have you always been from LA?"

"Nope. I came from Kentucky actually."

The whole group gives a really loud 'WHAT?' at once.

"This is like in the whole other side of the country! Don't you miss your family or anything, or they came with you?" Ashly's jaw falls.

"I came on my own. It was sad at the begging, yes, but I overcame it easily. There wasn't much for me to left behind anyway."

Ashly looks like she wants to ask more, but I go for the spinner.

It stops on Andrew.  _Of course_ , I think, a little bit pissed about the circumstances.

Our eyes meet at the same instant and his molds into an encouraging look.

"Truth. Shoot," he says.

"Hm, I don't know what to ask you..." I say exactly what I'm thinking as I reach my hand to the back of my head, scratching it.

"You can ask me anything."

" 'Anything' ?"

" _Anything._ " he shrugs, never breaking the eye contact.

Of course, I would  _never_  ask a personal question at this point, since it would totally give it away to the whole meeting.

Okay, I know what to ask.

"With what do you work with? In which department?"

Hannah's head turns violently at her friends at the same time, they all suppress gasps with amused looks on their faces, like I had just asked the stupidest question ever, or just like something is about to go down.

"Let's say," Andrew's voice brings my attention fully to him once again, "I'm the person who brought you here."

"What do you mean?" My heart skips and my bowlers turn.

"I'm the one who first came across your writing blog, Mike." He achieves the act of smiling only using his eyes, what affects me the same as the actual thing would do. "Once I read one of your works I instantly knew that I needed you here."

"So, are you saying that you are one of the selectors?"

"No, I'm the one who brought you to the selectors' knowledge."

I feel like my entire world has gone silent.

"Wait, are you..." I don't even need to finish.

"Yes, Chester. I'm your boss."


	8. 8

_Oh, shit!_

I gulp down my secret shame.

_I can't believe I was just having a crush for my own boss!_

"Oh, you don't say!" I speak when, in my mind, I actually want to scream a huge-ass  _fuck, no!_  "I'm sorry for being so oblivious."

_I'm sorry for insta-crushing on you, too._

"No need to worry, Chester." He assures me, although he still stares at me while sipping his drink wearing a look which I can't manage to decipher. What's he trying to send to me? Indifference, assurance or... something else?

I bearly know this guy, but I can already tell that he's going to be a very confusing boss.

I hope he looks way better when wearing an expensive suit... I mean, in the  _professional_  way of speaking!

I feel my insides turning and I already know that is my weak body asking for a truce from the booze.

"I need some air," I excuse myself from the playing table since Andrew's presence in here isn't helping it either.

I arrive at the backyard which is now deserted. The wind feels cold on my skin even through my flannel; at the same time, I think about the way Andrew said he was my boss and how I felt having the little bit of hope in me shattered, and I shiver—what makes me unsure if it is because of the cold or because of... him.

_Ugh! I hate insta-crushing on people like that!_

The fresh air makes me feel better quickly. And as I'm ready to go back in I see my ginger coworker coming at me with an expression which seems of real worry.

"You ok?"

As I'm about to reply him, I catch by the corner of my eye the glimpse of the fluttering blonde hair just coming after him. Andrew stops by the door frame when he seems to see that Kenny got to me first.

"Yes, Kenny. I'm fine, thank you." I unwillingly stroke my hand on his arm by his left side, so Andrew can pretty much see it from the distance.

_What the fuck am I doing now? I look like a teenage girl pulling this one out._

"Oh, ok. Sure," he seems to be caught in a surprise by my touch.

"What did Hannah mean, by the way?"

"Hm?"

"The thing about you needing 'another boyfriend'?"

"Oh, that," I can see on him a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. "Long story."

This is when we are interrupted by a loud series of gagging and choking from inside the house, followed by a unison shriek of disgust from the public.  
"Hannah," Kenny rolls his eyes like this is the most usual thing in his world and goes back at the house, probably to help cleaning Hannah's vomit.

I check on Andrew by the frame, but he doesn't go in my direction when I see myself alone again. Instead, he stays there, glaring me with—of course—unreadable emotions. I think he's hesitating?

And then someone calls him out as the situation looks more serious than it was supposed to look.

And he leaves.

I think I scared him away.

...

_Hooray?_

~

The party is over as soon as Hannah gets wasted.

Everyone seems to be leaving. The biggest part of the boys leave with their wives and I'm left with a more restrained group of people.

I think is more than time for me to go.

Ashly is taking Hannah back home with Hannah's own car, along with Allison, Zach, and Evans.

My only seemingly option right now is Shane or Kenny. I discover they are going together and taking back home all of the party equipment on their backseat, so I don't even ask them.

I sigh. I don't care really. I can just call an uber or just wait for the sunrise so I can grab a bus or go to the closest train station. But I'm in the middle of LA's suburb, walking to a train station or a bus stops makes the same effort than just going to my house by feet.

I head for the empty, now weirdly too silent and bright kitchen.

I'll just call an Uber.

I'm just about to do that when someone says from behind me.

"I'll take you."

I turn at Andrew, and the awkward silence-staring competition between us starts again as I try to find the perfect excuse to decline his offer.

"You've been drinking today," I say. I know he can't deny it. "That's not a good idea for any of us."

"This was way earlier, Chester. I'm sober, I can drive you."

"You sure? Because I know you have problems even parking without a single drop of alcohol in your blood."

He smirks. A snickering satisfied smirk.

I like it.

I like it as much as he seems to like it, too.

"You know what  _isn't_  a good idea?" He walks closer, slow as always; his footsteps filling the mute ambiance. "Saying no to your boss, young man."

He says his joke in a way more serious tone than it feels like it should have been said, what makes me question if it is really a joke after all.

I lean against the counter as well as leaning into his mood. "Well, I can't argue with that now, can I?"

"You can't," he takes his hands out of his pockets along with his key set, "let's just go. Please."

At any other circumstance, I would insist on reclining that, since I do have other options as well.

But I'm still half-drunk.

And if the drunken half of my brain is telling me that going in that car with hot Andrew seems more fun...

Then I'm fucking hopping inside that car with hot Andrew.


	9. 9

As I'm inside I suddenly notice how I didn't even say my address to him and he just goes with the car through the road.

"Do you even know where my house is?"

"I do."

I turn at him, finding this sketchy.

"You do?"

"Hannah told me."

"Oh."

Back into silence.

Like a scene straight out of a Hollywoodian movie gimmick, a song I know starts playing on his dash.

On  _his_  playlist.

It's not just any song. It is really underground stuff which makes me surprised to see someone finally casually listening to it. It's probably my favorite one: Titanic Sinclair's 'Loud'.

I start humming the guitar chords, but I stop fast once I remember I'm not alone. Of course, he notices it and sideglances me. "Know this song?"

"Yes," I say. "It connected perfectly with how I felt in my first years in Los Angeles."

"It must have been hard for you. You know, countryside boy is thrown into one of America's biggest cities by his own."

"Yeah..." I don't want to go into this subject. Anything is better than this.

"So, 'full-time dick lover', huh?" He teases.

_Anything except that! Oh, my god, please, no!_

"You know, kinda a nice first impression to your boss. This one is new, really. I imagine how it would have been if I decided to do a job interview with you."

"Oh, my god! Please! I'm  _so_  sorry. I had no idea that you were... you know—Ah!" I feel so embarrassed that my cringe starts cringing.

"Don't be." He says playfully.

"Don't? Are you serious? Is the type of person who says he's a 'dick lover' that you want working for the company you're representing?"  _Oh, please, Drunk Mike, just stop talking!_

"Well, it depends," for the first time, he takes his eyes out of the road and locks his feline-like gems directly on me, "what would you like to get out of this job?"

_You. I would like to get you very much so, sir._

My drunken mind rushes at my urge to talk out loud again, but I just turn my eyes away from him and say: "I don't know. What do you mean?"

"You tell me. Are you looking for something  _more_  at BuzzFeed? Or like in Han's words, do you have an 'office-crush'?"

I'm slightly pissed at this question but slightly aroused for being Andrew the one to ask.

"I'm just trying to get into something in life right now," I say.

"And once you get used with the job...?"

"Once that happens... like, I don't know. If something  _does_  happen... it won't be with anyone from BuzzFeed." The words that come out of me are way more personal and real than Andrew or even myself can imagine.

"What do you mean?" He says, still focused on the empty road. It's the middle of the night, no one is driving by the suburbs at this hour, the road is a straight one, there's literally nothing keeping his eyes on the road... I guess staring the nothingness it's more entertaining for him than staring at me.

And by this only action I notice, there is the answer to his previous question.

"I mean... you guys seem all so... so... something, and..." I stop, trying to sound more careless—far away from what I actually am as I say. "And... _look at me_."

"I am."

There's something about the way he says it that just makes me turn my head at the direction his glancing on the road when... wait. He wasn't even looking at the road any of this time.

He was looking at the askew rearview mirror.

The place where I see his yellowish eyes indirectly glaring at me all along.

My stomach flutters.

I drop my head down, heart racing. I squeeze my hands into fists, tightening my jeans.

I should stop. This can't end well for me. I try to remind myself that this isn't one of my fictional stories. People don't just stare at each other and immediately feel an instant intense, undeniable attraction.

This is real life and real life sucks.

I don't know Andrew, he's my boss and he's too pretty to be single. He must be straight anyway for all I've noticed. By the way, studying the way everyone talks about him, he must be that kind of guy who has been everyone's crush at some point in his social circle.

_But he offered you a ride..._  Politeness doesn't equal interest, drunk Mike. I'm his employee.

That's it.

The rest of the ride is quiet. I feel bad since it feels like I have watered down the possible mood for a talk that we were having with my depressing dialog. My spleen only rises once we get to the city's downtown. At every corner we get closer to home, the more I want to be afar; to rewind time.

He parks by the alley—not a hard task for him since there are no cars to been seen. I think about making a friendly remark about this, but I'm scared that this joke may be getting old for him.

I unbuckle my seatbelt.

"Thank you, Andrew." It's all I say while opening the door.

"You don't want me to walk you inside?"

_Yes. Please. Take me home and tuck me in bed with a goodnight kiss._

"No, I'm fine," I close the door, heading to the staircase when I feel the same as Hannah earlier.  _But not fine enough to walk up the stairs._

I go in the opposite direction, where the elevator stays. Yes, this building has one. It is one of those special elevators, made only for crippled people or emergencies (my both exact cases at the moment, fuck it). I walk there, where I can't see Andrew's car anymore, and twist my apartment key into the metallic door. The automatic passageway opens, allowing me to enter.

I sigh once inside, head still facing the ground.

This is when an abrupt metallic sound makes me jolt my head right back up. Someone put a hand through the door and the wall, holding it and pulling it back open.

From a second to another, Andrew marches inside the small cube. Before I can even catch what's happening, why he's here or what's the look on his face this time, he's already in front of me. Close. Way too close. More than any strangers should be.

And we stay like this for a while. I can feel his heavy hesitating breath against mine. Actually,  _our_  breath since we're so close that it melts into one, and he seems to swallow mine away.

He finally leans into me, and my lips part to take his.

Suddenly I can feel everything. Everything I've ever felt but never stopped to pay attention to it before. I can feel the pressure of my insides twisting, the cold from the metal wall in which he holds me against, the pain from my tired feet and body after the party... I feel it all since it seems like Andrew has the ability to make me feel a part of everything that surrounds me. Even more, of course... I feel _him_. His warmth that my body drinks from, his body tension that I use to support myself, and his hands—oh my, his hands and lips! Both avoiding me of escaping, holding me into place.

My bowels ache, burning, and I like the fire—it hurts and seems scary all along, but it's so beautiful to look at that I don't even mind letting myself get hypnotized by the movement of its flames. Every single feeling inside of me seems to be spinning in a disorienting chaos, yet it never felt so perfectly arranged.

In a time-space in which I can't decide if took too long or short enough, he ends the kiss and mumbles in pain, "I'm... sorry."

Then, he walks out.

And the door closes.


	10. 10

_What the fuck happened?_

Not surprisingly, this is the first thought that crosses my mind when I wake up, as well as it was my last one when I went to bed.

_I kissed Andrew._

_I kissed my boss._

_I kissed my very own boss._

I'm screwed.

That's it. I'm being fired this very Monday.

Only two days at my job.  _Two days, Mike, and you were able to mess it all up._  
_Way to go, pal! Congrats, really!_

Why was I drunk? Why?! Oh my god... I cringe so hard that my face hurts and I sink into bed.

Since it's Saturday and I went to sleep when it was almost morning, I sleep until it's night again. Sunday is right around the corner, and the feeling of having a new week getting close never felt so dreadful.

I spend the rest of the day in my room, rewinding in my mind what happened over and over. I try to convince myself it was all a dream, something that usually happens when I get drunk, however, only by the thought of the kiss, everything rises underneath my skin—every single movement, the warmth, the cold, he leaning against me, his body, his voice, his eyes...  _him_ —, making my arm hair stand on end; a dream can't be this vivid. I would never imagine something like that. Something that makes me feel so... real.

Oh, no.

This is really happening, isn't it?

_I need to do something_ , I realize as I get out of the bed. I can't let what happened to take over me again. I go straight to the bathroom, and after a long bubble bath I pull out the tub's cork, wishing its drain could swallow all of my anxiety as well.

I grab something to eat and try to distract myself watching some random shit on Netflix.

The next day arrives and I'm far from recovered.

After going to buy groceries in the morning, I stand by my living room open window; a place which usually brings me peace, as well as the uncommon calm Sunday air for LA's standards. Unfortunately, it only worsens my apprehension. Everything seems to remind me of—

_Fuck it_ , I say while sliding my hand into my pocket, grabbing my phone.  _I'm stalking him. If my mind isn't into forgetting him so soon then why try to make it go faster, right?_

It is not a difficult task. After all, those people from BuzzFeed are pretty much like web celebrities. Since I don't know my boss' last name, I check for Hannah's Instagram account. I give her a follow and, surprisingly, she starts following me back immediately.

Now I'm seeing the stories that she made during the party. There's a lot of hilarious stuff to be honest, which, for the first time since that day, makes me laugh out loud by myself, temporarily taking me away from my stupor. _Thanks, Hannah._

When I see a picture in which Andrew appears accidentally on the background, my heart is back at swelling, and I close it right after.

I take a deep breath and turn on the screen again, clicking on this account tag.

Andrew Ilnyckyj. That's his full name. What kind of last name is that, by the way? I'm not even sure I can write it by mind.

Pretty standard feed. Lots of followers, and, of course, I'm not urging to be a new one of them so soon. As expected, the comments on his pictures are full of girls and so-called fans with messages saying 'he is hot' and all of that. I have to repress my will of tagging all of them in a huge comment, replying:  _See this guy over there? The one you're always praising? I made out with him! Yes! Me! Suck on that, bitches!_

I smile at the thought of it, definitively closing my phone after.

I clean my house for the rest of the afternoon, and when the evening strikes again I remember that's not only Andrew that I'm facing tomorrow—I remember that now I have an actual job. And, if I'm lucky enough of not being fired the next day, I better put my mind to work since I have a creative meeting to attend. I stay at my desk, googling about introverts the rest of the day and taking notes on what I could possibly present to Allison and the rest of the group.

When I go to bed I realize that, as I was already expecting, I can't sleep. I just can't stop thinking about how bad things can go tomorrow, and... wait a second. What if I lie? What if I pretend that any of it has happened? I could use the being drunk excuse.

No. That would be stupid. I wouldn't be able to keep the facade for much time, I'm not that type of person. I can't just pretend that nothing happened.

I grab my phone over my bedside table. I need to distract myself. Only until I sleep or find a better idea. When the screen shines into my face, I see that my phone still at Andrew's Instagram page.

Almost unwillingly, I start scrolling through his pictures again. My heart skips at the sight of a certain one... a selfie of him. Smiling.

Before I notice what I'm doing, I catch myself smiling, too.

_He looks so..._

I keep staring at it for an unknown period of time and, as soon I know, I'm asleep.

~

"I still haven't found my left stiletto yet," Hannah tells us as I arrive on the first floor of the workplace. People, of course, are laughing their asses off and making fun of her. "I'm serious, that isn't mine. If any of you happens to find it just  _please_  let me know. Thank you."

"Maybe you should think better about using other people's stuff when getting smashed next time, Han'," says Kenny, bickering her.

"Oh, please, Ken..."

They still talking, but I feel too numb to even pay attention. While seeing myself slowly sinking into my deplorable mind state, a voice brings me back to reality:

"You okay?" It's Ashly.

"Oh, yeah. I'm ok," I say, she seems more perceptive than I would imagine, "why?"

"You seem different. Didn't talk a word after saying good morning."

_Well, after kissing Andrew, I do feel different indeed._

"I'm just too focused on what I have to talk about during the meeting today."

"Don't worry; I'm sure you'll do fine. Even Allison thinks that, remember?"

Even though Ashly is a person that a barely know, and the reason for me being 'different' isn't the one I told her, it feels nice to have her being so sweet and supportive of me.

"Thanks, Ashly." I manage to smile politely at her.

"Relax, Mike. You're totally fit for this job."

_Well, if I still have a job after all._

The rest of the day goes by quickly. My reunion turns out fine. The group and I already have the whole idea for the short film planned. It's up to me to write the first draft of the script now.

I stay by my desk on the first floor, now almost completely empty since all of my co-workers went to lunch time. I would go to a restaurant with Hannah (as she invited me earlier), but I decide to stay here, once the silence helps me get on focus, and start outlining the screenplay.

Time goes by and I'm still staring at a blank page only with the title, 'perks of being an introverted'.

What about  _Perks of being introverted number one—you don't kiss people you would regret later, like your boss_?

Against my will, I start thinking about my situation again. It's... well, it's not like I  _regret_  the kiss exactly... I only regret the fact that it was with my boss, and that I was drunk, and that I'm probably getting fired from the perfect job... and that I can't seem to forget the scene either. That I can't seem to forget how good I felt during it.

Footsteps echoes behind me, probably people getting back from the streets after lunch, but as soon as it gets closer my stomach starts wanting to be inside out.

I instantly know it's Andrew. The way he walks is the complete opposite from his employees; he always goes slowly and pacing around, while the rest of my co-workers always hold this rushed, excited presence.

I freeze when the steps stop right by my back. Maybe if I don't look he'll go away.

Unbelievably, I can feel his magnetic gaze weighing on my shoulders, trying to pull me into looking at him.  _Will he buy this? Am I doing a good job at pretending that I don't notice him right behind me?_

"You're doing it all wrong," he says, his deep voice grasping the silence.

" _Wha_?" I ask, still not turning around.

"The text format. We have a specific one," he explains, his voice and feet getting closer. "Let me show you."

I can feel him hovering over me. His suffocating presence draining my stability. His chest is right above my back now; his face and stubble just some inches away from mine.

"You have to use the paper type number 2," he instructs when he sees my screen from much closer, "is the one we use for printing scripts."

"Hm?" The same as last Friday, I seem to temporarily lose my ability to talk the closer he gets. I must look like a dumb kid just mumbling stuff back to him.

"Paper type number 2." He repeats. I'm still not saying a thing, not quite understanding what he means. "Don't you know this software?"

I actually don't, I have never used it before. Seems too sophisticated for me, way far from a Microsoft Word.

I shake my head in a silent 'no'.

"Okay, that's fine. I'll show you," this is when he does something that I wasn't expecting. He reaches his hand to the mouse, putting it right above mine.

In the second we touch, a spark lights up in the bottom of my stomach; it threatens to make my whole body burst into combustion.

He leans forward and the unshaven beard from his chin slightly scratches my exposed nape, and I feel my legs stiffer. He smells like coffee. The perfect aroma for Andrew, since it is just like what I'm starting to feel about him during this very moment; a hot drink highly addictive and stimulating.

He guides my hand above the mouse pad, moving the cursor to a certain place on the screen.

"Can you see it now?" He asks me in a low tone, almost a whisper, and the warmth of his breath grasps my earlobe; his words crawling underneath my skin.

"Y-yeah..." I say, my voice is so low that anyone else would think they'd imagined hearing it.

I don't know why, but, in the second I speak, Andrew's breathing seems to get heavier and he stops gliding the mouse and just stays still. There. Breathing. It goes down my neck and, like a hook, the tension I feel from his inhaling pulls a series of goosebumps from the deepest place of my insides up to the surface of my skin. My body hair stills on its end.

He and I both make, at the same time, an almost inaudible pant. Suddenly I feel the uncontrollable need of turning my head and facing him directly. To see what's the look on his face now, to try to decipher what he might be feeling with all of this; to at least understand what actually were his intentions coming at me in the first place. Was he trying to actually help me with the computer or...?

This is when I know where to draw the line.

Before it turns into a moan, I stutter, "Is... Is that it?"

I feel his grip on my hand loosen, almost like the confirmation of him breaking out of this weird trance.

"Yes," his voice is back to normal, "this is it."

People start getting back from lunch. Andrew leaves; the complete opposite of sooner, now his footsteps are fast and rushed. I can feel his disturbed energy just by the echoing of it.

It's weird.

It's almost like... he's scared now, running away from something.  
I stay in the same position I was since he came, still trying to make some sense from what just happened.

_So, this is how it is going to be, huh?_  I think to myself.  _I think we're going by the pretending-nothing-happened path._

"You look like a tomato," Ashly says to me as soon as she arrives. Of course, I'm blushing; after what just went down, it would have been weird if I wasn't. "Are you sure you're okay today, Mike?"

"Yea. I flush easily."

"Mike," Hannah calls me from my side. I turn at her and I have the second shock of my day: she looks... worried.

"What's wrong?"

"Andrew just told me that he wants to talk to you at his office. Now."

My heartbeat leaps again.

_Or maybe I'm wrong. This doesn't seem like the pretending-nothing-happened path._


	11. 11

I don't even give time enough for my body to process the standards of nervousness since I've been preparing myself for this moment through the whole weekend.

In an artificial way, I just hear the directions that Hannah gives me and go to his office without hesitation. Already on the 3rd floor, I try looking at the bright side: at least we're not pretending nothing happened that night. At least he cares enough to give me the satisfaction of what he did... somehow, this makes me feel extremely glad.

I see myself in a long corridor, doors all around me; he's is the last one, by the end of it. 'Ilnyckyj', is what the door's sign holds. I only notice that my heart is pounding hard against my ribcage right before I twist the doorknob. Now it's too late since I'm already in. "I heard you wanted to tell me something, boss," I manage as I can not to sound too nervous, hoping that my voice is louder than my heartbeat at this moment.

He turns around on this chair, breaking his attention from his work table and gazes directly at me. Once I catch a glimpse of his eyes, I instantly know that his intentions with me are way beyond being work-related.

"Close the door, please," he says in a firm and serious tone of voice that awakens my anxiety. I close the passage to the corridor on the same second. Once isolated with him, the agitated sounds of the office are muted, and everything goes silent; it feels, for an instance, like him and I are the only two people in the world.

"Please, have a seat," his hoarse demanding voice is enough to make me go for the chair. As I sit, I realize at the same time that this chair is way much better and comfortable than any other from the main office. So unfair. Once closer to him, Andrew's "serious pose" comes undone and he rests his back on the chair, putting his feet up and his arms and hands behind his head—he suddenly looks like a kid, playful; the scene is so cute that makes me wanna chuckle, however, the last thing I want is finishing the task of losing my job.

"So, we're talking," I say, realizing very well that there's no reason for me to play the oblivious part; we both know why we're here.

"Actually," he says, his voice back into seriousness, almost intimidating, "we aren't."

_What?_  "What?"

"This is very not allowed, and we know it, right, Mr. Chester?"

I hate being called like that. By him, most of all.

"Right," I nod, automatically looking down. I don't need to look at my hands to know they're closed into tight fists.

"So I believe we both know this was a mistake, don't we?"

"Yeah," I shrug, pleading to my careless side to show up convincingly, "it was just a kiss, people kiss all the time."

I feel my stomach twisting at the sight of my own phrase. It hurts me to hear myself saying this. But it's the truth. I was drunk; he was drinking... that was it. Maybe the pain in my feelings is just the fear of thinking he didn't feel the same as I did in that elevator... but,  _what exactly did I feel again?_  It doesn't matter. As I said, alcohol, and he is attractive. However, somewhere inside of me, I can feel my emotions battling for the wish of doing it all over again.

"I guess we can forget it then," I speak, hating to pick on the difficulty that rises from my voice as I do.

He chuckles. "Trust me, I don't want to act like it happened either."

There we go with the passive arrogance of his again.

He seems to notice how bad I felt, once he completes it quickly, "Pardon me. I get how rude I must sound to you, but is way better like that. Trust me..." and, then, the words that threaten my mind to shut down, "we look way better staying away from each other."

I can almost feel the small tendril of rage spreading across my heart.

"I don't know what you're implying with that." For the first time while talking to him, my voice, unintentionally, sounds firm and secure.

"What I'm saying is: we shouldn't be friends, Mr. Chester."

I grit my teeth.

"Okay," I say, faster than I thought it would be.

"Okay."

I jolt right up, my fingernails almost taking blood from my palms.

"Is that it,  _boss_?"

"Dismissed, workman."

I'm almost reaching the door when he stops me again. "Oh, and by the way: could you, please, not tell anyone about any of this?"

After everything he said just some seconds ago, I don't even feel any pain by this.

"Whatever you say. My lips are sealed."

~

When I get home by the end of the afternoon, I go to the kitchen, longing for a glass of water.

After grabbing a clean cup and closing the faucet, I stand over the sink, watching the unstoppable water drops dripping from the tap.

Earlier this morning, as well as the last two days, my biggest fear was of getting fired. However, was only after the afternoon happenings that I realized that it was far from it: my biggest fear was of staying. Staying at the job, staying with Andrew; staying, seeing him and having to pretend that nothing happened between us the day after, and the day after that, and the next one, and the next, and the next...

Now I have to endure this strange imbalance inside of me  _every single day_.

It would have been way better if I have gotten fired.

_'We shouldn't be friends, Mr. Chester.'_

Before I can even notice, my hand on the glass of water is shaking, my grip tightening around it when I think about how stupidly fool I was on Friday; as I should have known when I tried to warn myself back then: this isn't one of my stories, and someone like Andrew would never end up with someone like me. Ever.

What was I thinking?

As soon as I see, the glass breaks in my hand; the shards going all around the counter.

And blood starts to run down my fingers.


	12. 12

I stay up late writing the draft until I'm too tired to even blink my eye. The next day arrives and I already feel done with it. I think I can say this is my first bad day at work.

" _Geez_ , Mike," Once she gets to the Snack Room, Hannah's eyes widen on me when she sees the amount of coffee I'm pouring into my cup. "Are you all right?"

"Just went to sleep late last night."  _And there's the Andrew thing, too. But I promised him not to tell._

By the sound of my voice she can definitely pick on something else, "Is that all?" she insists.

"Yeah."

"Oh, yeah?" she sips from her cup. "What did Andrew wanted with you yesterday?"

I almost spit all of my coffee, chocking. I hold a thumb up at her so she knows that I'm okay until I stop coughing to be able to speak again. "Nothing important, why?"

"Because it is weird," she gazes an invisible wall, her voice is in a serious tone, completely unmatched with her usual persona. The last time I saw her like this was during the first time she dropped me by my apparent, asking me to stay working at BuzzFeed. "Andrew never calls someone individually to his office. Like, ever. When he needs to talk, he just goes downstairs; here, to the main office, and talks to all of us since he's pretty much a friend from everyone. Actually, I think you're the first one to ever accomplish this from him. So I was worried if it was something serious."

"It's not," I need to come up with something. "He was just welcoming me properly since we didn't have a very decent introduction at the party."

"Oh, I see," she finishes her drink, leaving her mug by the sink. "Hit me up later, we're lunching together today. You're not getting away from me so soon."

I chuckle, finally a smile today. I'm happy I got this affinity with Hannah so quickly. Although I can't tell everything that's going on with me right now, it feels good having her cheering me up.

"Okay, I'm one hundred percent fine with being stuck with you."

"Glad we think the same," and she's gone.

My meeting with Allison and the guys today will only be later, during the afternoon period. What gives me time enough to finish my first draft so I can present it to them.

I sit in front of my computer, going through all I've written yet.  _Something's missing..._  I think to myself. It definitely feels like something's off. My text doesn't have enough emotion to me. The ideas are good, but the dialogue seems corny.  _Maybe if I get a printed copy I can help my mind find what's the problem exactly, and it would help with finding the grammar issues, too._

That's it, I guess I'm printing it.

"Hey, Zach," I call him. He's at the other side of the table, occupied with his individual work; he barely looks at me.

"Yea?" He asks his glasses reflecting the screen in front of him.

"Do you know where I can print something?"

"3rd floor, mate. Machine's room."

"Thanks."

"Don't bother."

I do as he says and, when I get to the third floor, my mind starts wondering about Andrew again since this is where his office lies.

I sigh. Only at the slight memory of our conversation yesterday, I already feel unstable. I don't know how to feel exactly about all of this: am I sad? Pissed? If I'm sad, then why I'm sad about? Not having a chance with him or the fact that I could have one if it wasn't for the circumstances? Or, if I'm pissed, at whom I'm pissed at? With him for kissing me for any reason whatsoever only to dump me later? Or to myself for being a fool thinking that he could just ignore the fact that he's my boss and—

"How are you doing this morning, Chester?"

My mind shuts down. During my chain of thoughts, I didn't even notice that I had already got into the room... much less the presence of Andrew right by my side.  
I stop by one of the printers, holding my flash drive.

"Are you going to use that?" He asks again and I force myself to face him.

As I do, my world trembles again underneath my feet when I see that he's looking at me with a... friendly expression.

At any other circumstances, I would be happy to receive a look from him which showed his intentions clearly. Unfortunately, taking into consideration everything that has happened only a day ago, this just feels... off. Like, too off. Weird, even.

"Huhum," I mumble, turning back to the machine and plugging the drive in.

I can feel the same tendril from yesterday taking over me again, crushing my heart as I give the commands to the printer.

"That's great! I hope you're doing a great job!"

I turn my head violently at him, and I know my expression holds pure disbelief since that's exactly how I am.  _What's with this sudden change of attitude at me?_  He obviously isn't this cheerful person, and he knows I know it. So... why? Is that his way of pretending that nothing happened?  _Mocking_  me with this second, artificial personality?!

_Is he trying to throw in my face how good can he pretend it? How easily and fast he can just go over it?!_

"What's wrong?" He says with a fake innocence and smiles.

He smiles.

For the first time.

He. Fucking. Smiles!

And it looks and feels terrible.

I'm here, looking and feeling like garbage while he's just done with it already? Is that  _this_  simple for him? Something insignificant enough to be dusted off from his jacket like it was just a mere daily inconvenience?!

_'What's wrong'?!_  I want to say this aloud so bad.  _How do you fucking dare 'what's wrong' me?!_

The pages finish getting printed since they were only a few. I don't even dare to say or to do anything back at Andrew—because I'm scared that, if I do and he replies once more like he's doing, I'll punch the beauty out off his perfect face.

I gather the papers from the machine and try to sprint out of the room, but one of them escapes my grip and falls to the ground. Right above Andrew's foot.

_You gotta be kidding me._

I go for it, but he's faster as he bends down and picks it up for me.

"There you go," he says, gesturing the page to me.

And then, something inside of me clicks. I grab the paper back aggressively.

"Thank you," I say through gritted teeth, and I mean it. After all, Andrew just gave me the emotion that was missing from my script.

And that is rage.

~

"Wow, this is... this looks great." Allison's mouth and eyes are open wide as she reads my work aloud. "I didn't expect you to do a full screenplay in this short amount of time. And a good one, most of all."

"I love the last scene, mostly," says Evans, "the one saying that being introverted avoids kissing people that you shouldn't. I could feel the tension between the two characters during the dialog."

"Right!" Shane interjects. "The way they have to pretend that nothing happened later sure is awkward. Looks so real and probably relatable to most people... the male character is such a douche, though. Why did he have to kiss the girl character if he didn't want her anyway?"

"Thank you," I say, couldn't be more proud of myself, "believe it or not I just wrote this part some hours ago, before lunch."

"Wow! What gave you the push to add this so out of nowhere?" Allison chuckles.

"Let's say that some ideas just came,"  _yeah, came right out from my will of punching my boss' face._

"That's awesome," Allison replies, "I'll tag your scenes to the ones Shane and Evans wrote and edit them together so we can show at the final meeting today."

"Final meeting? I thought this was our final meeting." That's weird.

"With the three of us, yes. The thing is, we have to show the play to our superior so he can approve the idea to go to the production team so they can start working with the cinematography. This is when the final product is completed."

"Our... superior?" I can feel my voice already languishing.

"Yes. Andrew. He's coming later to evaluate the final script."

_Oh, no!_

_Actually... oh, yes! For some reason, I want him to see this._

I go with Allison to the machine room once again. We use the public computer to edit together the scenes of our short film.

Later, when we get back to the meeting, Andrew is there. He's sitting by the end of the large table. When he sees me and Alli, he smirks... and he smirks just at her.

_Oh! So I guess when we are in public you're back into being your 'normal' self with me?_

Everything about him seems as before. The unreadable eyes, the firm, contained posture, the silence...

Before I notice, my jaw is clenching. I'm less than two seconds inside this room with him and I already feel like slapping Andrew. I can't take this concealment.

I sit down along with Allison, she slides the final script to Andrew while explaining the concept and ideas with Shane and Evans. I stay silent.

Andrew starts reading it and we all expect his reactions to be relevant. He stops from time to time to make a remark or a compliment, or sometimes only to nod solemnly.

Then, he gets to the final two pages. My scene. The scene I wrote to transcribe all of my loathe against him.

It doesn't take a minute. While he's reading it, I see how discreetly his body is changing as he starts recognizing what's under the surface of my writing—his grip on the paper tightens, his expression becomes more rigid and focused in the task of reading the lines, and he doesn't say a single word. Not even a nod.

He finishes it and throws the document on the middle of us. "I'm assuming the one who wrote the final scene was Mr. Chester, am I right?" He slowly glares at me; a visceral look that gives shivers all over my spine.

Allison gasps, "Yes. How did you know it?"

"Delete it. It's terrible."

I smirk at him satisfyingly.  _Oh, yeah? So this is how's it is going to be, Mr. Ilnyckyj?_

"What?!" Alli and my co-workers shout at the same time. "Why?"

"It is a stupid assumption," he explains, looking direct and vehemently at me with his yellow cat eyes, "why would the girl character think any further about a kiss with a guy that she knows she couldn't have in the first place?"

I put my two elbows over the table, resting my head between my two hands, not planning to break eye contact with him so soon.

"I don't know, Andrew. You tell me: why would the guy character want to willingly kiss her if he knew he shouldn't since the begging?" My voice comes out as discreetly aggressive, more than I planned it to be. Andrew's eyes squint at me, his left-hand fisting strongly above the table.

"Maybe it was because the guy knew that the girl recognizes that a kiss doesn't have to always mean something. After all,  _'it was just a kiss, people kiss all the time'_ , isn't that right?"

_You bitch...! So you like playing dirty, huh?_

"That's right. But maybe if the guy wasn't so stupid first, maybe he didn't need to act as a pretending, oblivious jerk the next day."

"Oh, C'mon! He wasn't acting as an oblivious jerk! He was doing his fucking job!"

Now we're pretty much screaming at each other. The faces of Alli, Evans, and Shane go from me to Andrew at each reply—they seem speechless, confused, and kind of shocked at the same time since all of their mouths are open in a perfect O.

"Oh, yeah? Is kissing random persons for any reason whatsoever and dumping them later part of his job?!" I grimace in an acid malevolence.

His tight fist punches the table's surface and he jolts right up. The act catches my co-workers by surprise and they jump on their seats, backing off. I stay indifferent and insoluble.

"Chester, to my room. Now!"


	13. 13

As I walk out of the meeting with Andrew, I can hear Evans whisper to the rest of the ones left exactly what they were all thinking: "What the fuck just went down in here?"

It doesn't take long for me to see myself in his office again. He holds the door open for me as I storm into the room.

"What was that all about?!" He hisses at me in a murmur just after closing the passage.

"Oh, there you go again. Pretending not to know what's all about," I turn to him, crossing my arms.

"I thought we had an agreement. What are you trying to achieve with this?"

"I'm the one who should be asking you this! What are  _you_  trying to achieve with this act? Being all friendly and innocent to me this morning while I was still obviously trying to get myself over the facts?! Give me a break."

"I was just trying to begin again on the right foot."

I scoff at him, allowing my sarcastic side take over me.

"Acting like a happy, go lucky work bud'?! I thought you were the one who said that didn't want to be friends with me."

"Only because I said that we  _shouldn't_  be friends, does not mean that I  _don't want_  us to be together."

I'm about to make a comeback when the content of what he just said drapes over me and I, suddenly, see myself without words again.  _Does... does he want to be with me?_  I stand there, silent, and, before I can allow my own mind, I catch myself admiring his body again. His face locked in mine, his perfect dark blonde hair shining in the now gloomy room, his magnetic pair of gems already making me lose the balance of my own interaction.

"Then... why? It would have been way easier if you didn't... if... W-Why did you have to kiss me on Friday, Andrew?" I let my head fall down; I'm already weak again under his influence. I hear his footsteps slowly getting closer to me, his height shadowing my image, the warmth that emanates from his body thawing the cold rage from inside my heart little by little...

"Good question..." His tone is back into being the one I've enjoyed to hear the most in those last days: low, calm, and igniting.

He steps forward, and, when I try to step back, I see that I'm trapped by his desk behind me. His chest touches mine and his hands stroke my chin, cupping my face and bringing it back up to meet his. I can see my reason slipping through the cracks of my flawed soul as I let myself get hypnotized by his unnatural power.

And he leans into me again, and it feels the same—if not better—than the first time. I don't hesitate not even for a second, neither does him. Andrew's lips mold into mine and I can't seem to catch my breath or my conscience, once I can't quite describe what's happening or how I feel with clarity after that.

He takes his hands off my face and slides them under my thighs, bringing my legs up and putting me over his table. I grab him by the tie, avoiding Andrew of ending this so soon by nudging himself away like he did last time.

I can feel his grip instilling me into getting my legs spread, and, shockingly, I do. He pushes me closer as his crotch starts grinding against mine; his coffee smell and taste intoxicating me.

_How far am I letting this go?_

This thought helps me to shine a light of lucidity inside of my misty mind clouded with lust, and I shove him away, my hands open against the hard burning surface of his chest.

We stay silent for a few seconds, catching our unbridled heavy breath until I say, "For how much time will we'll keep doing this?"

Andrew sinks his eyes into mine one more time, now I can picture a mixture of pity and worry on him. "I don't know."

"So this is how it is going to be for you? Just a hot 'n cold, cat and mouse game which you'll keep playing with me until you're bored, right?"

His eye contact breaks and he gazes the ground. He doesn't say a word.

I straddle myself down from his work table and say before passing by him in order to reach the door, "Goodbye, Andrew. Nice talk, by the way."


	14. 14

The next morning comes around. I was just so tired when I got home last night, that I didn't even think about what happened between me and Andrew again, I didn't respond Hannah's worried texts about the 'weird' conflict I had with our boss which resulted on getting me back into his room... All I feel is numbness.

While inside the train, I try to distract myself from all of the questions that I'll be receiving once I get at BuzzFeed.

That's when I remember that yesterday's meeting didn't end up with a final project. Is the short film of my group being produced or what?

_Oh, god... Will we have to go all over this today again?_  I sigh, lifting my hand to my forehead, massaging it while hoping the act makes my frown come undone so I can go to work with a wearable expression. With an expression different from the one I arrived and left with yesterday. The last thing I want to deal with is the same drama. And by 'same drama' I mean Andrew Ilnyckyj.

The train stops and I let the whole crowd leave first so I can walk freely. After leaving the station, I cross the streets that I'm starting to get used to. Once I'm just one corner from the headquarter, someone goes from the opposite direction, almost making me bump against him.

I'm about to say sorry when I manage to recognize  _his_  features. He stops at me, holding the same look as me when he realizes who am I. Andrew's jaw stiffens and a vein of nervousness pops up from his neck.

I could just say any trivial shit at him and go on with my life, but this is all too fucking messed up to be actually happening.

"Oh, come on," I sigh with a restless dragged voice. "Are you serious?"

Since I don't expect him—or even want him—to say anything back, I begin getting back into my walk when he grabs me by my wrist, holding me gently.

"Wait," His voice is almost shaky. "Chester!"

I swat my arm away from his grip.

"Can't we just skip all of this, not say a word, and just go straight ahead to our job, Andrew?"

"No."

"What the fuck do you want with me, then?" I'm surprised by the fact that anyone else would normally find my way of talking to my boss disrespectful, but this isn't a situation that anyone would label it using 'normally'.

"I want to talk to you. I mean, talk, talk. Actual talk."

I sigh for the one-thousandth time just this morning.

"Does it have to be now, now, Andrew?"

"No. I must imagine how tired you feel, so it doesn't have to be now. That's why..." He hesitates as if he's about to say something that is going to make me feel even more troubled. "... That's why I'm calling you to lunch today."

That's right. It  _does_  make me feel even more troubled.

I stop, not knowing from which part of all of this I'm trying to make some sense of.

"Andrew..."

"Yes?"

"Do you have multiple personality disorder or something?"

He doesn't answer this, but he does say something equally awful. "I'm green-lighting your script. I'm okay with it being shot. You can keep the scene you wrote."

I turn my vehemently pissed eyes to him. "Do you  _really_  think  _that_  is the worst of our problems?"

"Please, Chester, just go out with me this afternoon."

"You're unbelievable..." I ignore him and march myself to BuzzFeed's parking lot.

"Is that a yes?" He starts to follow me around.

"Frankly, Andrew, do I really need to answer that?"

He stops and stays while seeing me get away.

"We  _are_  lunching today, Chester." He demands with his annoying bossy tone. I roll my eyes and push the main door open.

~

"We did it!" That's how Allison greets me later this morning; I think this is the first time I have seen her so spontaneous and bubbly like this. It just gets more impressive as she opens her arms to hug me. "Andrew green-lighted our movie!"

"Oh, great! This is great!" I try my best to sound surprised as I hug her back.

"Well, I think  _you_  did it, Mike," Shane says while appearing behind Alli with the company of Kenny and Evans. "After all, he accepted the scene you wrote. I don't know what you told him yesterday, but it sure did work. Andrew is not the type of guy who changes his opinion this quickly!"

"Yeah! What  _did_  you tell him yesterday, Mike?" Evans asks me. "You must be the god of persuasion, no kidding."

Everyone looks at me with curiosity. Of course, everybody wants to know what my weird 'fight' with Andrew yesterday was all about.

"Well, I just... talked." I lie shyly and everybody seems to be disappointed with my answer. "Nothing dramatic, really,"  _Yeah, nothing except the fact that our 'talk' ended with his tongue inside of my mouth._

"Anyway, congrats, Mickey. It's not every newcomer that achieves this so quickly," Kenny smiles softly at me and I genuinely smile back.

"Thank you, Kenny," I reply.

"We should celebrate! Oh, let's talk to Hannah so she—" Allison starts excitedly again, but someone interrupts her.

"I'm already on in it!" Hannah pops out from one of the corners like a cartoon character, holding a beer crate up in the air. "Special occasion booze, bitches!"

We all grab a can and gather in order to make a toast after opening them.

"How does it feel to have alcohol for breakfast, Mickey?" Kenny straddles himself to my side as soon as I see myself alone by the end of the meeting table, unwinding my own thoughts.

"It just gets weirder when I remember that I'm on my job," I chuckle.

"You haven't seen even half of how much weirder it can get yet."

By this quote, my mind floods with unwanted thoughts of Andrew and how so much have changed from a week to another in this weird turn of events. I shiver. _I hope it doesn't get weirder than that._

"You okay, Mouse?" Kenny looks at me, squeezing his eyes as he analyzes my face.

"You just started hard time blushing right now."

_Of course, I remembered Andrew. What would you expect?_  The dark side of my mind tells me.

"Oh, I'm fine. I blush a lot. Pathetic, right?"

"Pathetic? Nah!" He smirks. "I would say cute as fuck."

I stop, not sure what to reply. Kenny and I can't seem to have a normal conversation without he hitting at me once or twice.

"Didn't you have a boyfriend or something?" I tease. I'll not stall on this subject since he likes to bring it up so many times.

"Or something." He replies with a smug look on his face and raises his can to take a sip, looking deeply at me.

"Mike!" Hannah calls me.  _Thank god._

"Yes?" I answer her, excusing myself from Kenny.

"Lunch, now!"

~

Hannah picks a standard Domino's pizza place for us to eat. Now I'm waiting on the line with her while we wait for the waiter to find a place for us to sit. Since this shop is further down LA's downtown during lunch town, this place is chaotic! There are people sitting by every single corner of this establishment, their voices filling and weighing the air around me in an inaudible buzz of annoying noise.

"Ugh! We could sure have picked a better place," she mumbles while going through her purse, searching for her ringing phone. "Next time we're eating on an actual restaurant."

"Good thing I'm not the only one agreeing with that," I say, putting my hands inside my pockets.

"Hold on," she says while taking the iPhone to her ear. "Hello?"

She stays for a while hearing whoever is on the other side, her expression getting more worried and zoomed out by each second.

"What's wrong?" I ask, getting worried myself.

"How did this happen?!" She screams into the receiver, it sounds louder than any other voice in the shop.

"Wow..." I back off, seeing some people staring.

"Ok, I'm on my way," she shuts the call, looking at me. "It was from the boys' kindergarten. They think Wyatt broke his arm, I need to take him to the hospital!" She rushes to the door.

"Oh, my! Should I...?"

"No. You stay where you are. Grab our seat." And she leaves the place in less than a second.

I start getting worried and sorry for her as the line gets shorter and shorter. I sigh, trying to distract myself while still looking at the door that she just closed in front of me. Not even a minute goes by and the bell above it tolls again, bringing my attention back to the entrance.

My whole body freezes and itches.

No way.

There he is again. Fiercely glaring me with his drowning eyes, Andrew walks in the Domino's wearing a smug, convinced mask. The way he finds my presence in the crowd so easily, like he already had this all planned from start, makes me want to scratch his acid smirk off his pretty face.

"Oh, quite a surprise, right, Mr. Chester? I think we chose the same place for lunch."

I'm stuck in my place, speechless. This is when my time on the line comes and the waiter's voice sounds from behind me, pulling reality back to me.

"I'm sorry, Sir. All seats are taken."

"Excuse me," Andrew interjects before I can say anything, "but I have a reserved spot. I can share it with him if you don't mind."

"Who's the reservation registered, Sir?" The waiter asks Andrew.

"Ilnyckyj."

The waiter starts going through his list, "Hum, yes. There it is. Table for two."

"Oh, wow! Look at that. It's great that I picked a place for two, isn't it, Chester?" He's back at me. "I guess we're sharing a table this lunch, then."


	15. 15

"Please don't tell me you broke a child's arm just to meet me," I say anxiously as I watch him biting on a piece of his slice. We're sitting down by a table, facing each other awkwardly in a more restricted area in the restaurant.

"Your pizza is getting cold," he carelessly gestures at the slice that is on my plate.

"Andrew, answer my question," I raise my tone of voice. I feel like a mom arguing with her misbehaving kid.

"I just pulled some strings, that's all." He shrugs.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You should really eat that. It tastes awesome." He chews on his meal, looking genuinely pleased while avoiding my demands.

"You're crazy! I'm out of here." As I'm about to stand and leave, he draws the focus back to him.

"Relax, Chester. I didn't harm anyone. I just prank called Hannah, it happens all the time when you work at BuzzFeed. Get ready and used with it, by the way."

"That still very much not cool." I settle down on my seat.

"She'll only be mad for a time, she'll survive after that. Don't worry."

He still chewing his pizza while I chew on the inside of my cheek. This all feels so awkward, but... somehow... it also feels thrilling. Being here, having _Andrew_ lunching with me— _willingly_ lunching with me. Oh, no. I'll not let my daydreaming girly side take over me this time. I have to convince myself that this is insane. What is Andrew doing? What is he trying to do with _me_? What is this all about? I have a good reason for staying, and that is trying to decipher at least a tiny bit of this guy's game.

"What do you want with me, Andrew? If we're doing this then you need to explain me the rules of this awful joke."

"There is no joke." He sounds like he could actually be offended.

"Oh, that's right," the sarcasm burns on my tongue, "because there's no joke on trying to move me like a pawn. To ask me to back off only for asking me out later. To kiss me and reject me. And then kiss me again. 'Oh, Chester, we shouldn't be together'," I try mimicking his bossy, deep monotonous voice. "'Oh, Chester, come here, let's make out. Oh, Chester, let's pretend that never happened. Oh, Chester, you know what? Let's go to lunch now.'"

During my speech, he slowly stops eating and turns his attention focus entirely on me. Without even blinking, he seems to study every single comma in my words, every single wrinkle in my expression with caution. And then, I see his posture shift; he goes from smug to his apparent emotionless, serious aura which is starting to annoy me. However, there's something different about his shift this time. I can't put my finger on it, but I can swear he looks more... concerned, like he's reevaluating something, like he's reevaluating me... or his _view_ about me.

"You're right," he says and it shocks me. Somehow, I immediately know he's the type of guy that doesn't say this a lot. That his constant overbearing posture at work and social circles invalidates his virtue of allowing someone else below him having the final say. "It's only a matter of minutes until Hannah realizes the fraud and comes back, we don't have much time. And I'm not going to waste yours," He cleans his throat, putting his meal aside and adjusting his back on the chair and arms over the table; his good-looking, controlled confidence it's almost intimidating in contrast to my impulsive, recklessly weak one... _desirable_ even. Just like the whole rest of him seems to be as well. "Yesterday made me realize that I want to get to know you properly, Mr. Chester. I'm interested in seeing what do you have to offer."

_What the fuck is he talking about now? 'What I have to offer'? Is he talking about social relationships or office transactions?_

"Be more specific, please."

He seems to stagnate in his own words... just _seems_ to. As always, he has quite a composure which makes it impossible to pinpoint precisely what goes on in his mind.

"I think you know what I mean."

"No. No, Andrew, I don't. I never seemed to be able to since the first time I saw you last week.  You're always so confusing and vague, how do you expect me—how do you expect _anyone_ —to get what you mean?"

A vein protrudes out of his neck. I don't know what this means, but it's a clear evidence that my words affected him in some ambiguous way. And I feel good about being the one to accomplish it.

"I'm sorry," he lowers his head slightly, our eye-contact breaks for a split second. "What seems confusing for you? Tell me and I'll try my best to explain."

_I don't think that during any moment of my entire life I had a more odd, frustrating, and out-of-place chat like this one._

"You! I don't get you," I'm honest with him. "Why did you kiss me if you didn't want me? And if you felt like it was nothing then why were you so affected by our argument during the meeting yesterday? Also, why the fuck would you make such an effort just to be left alone with me—to the point of making Hannah worry about her kid's well-being—when you were pretty much straightforward about not wanting us to stay close? Then, what in the holy titty do you mean about getting to know me? Do you want to know me like as in a date, or in a professional friendly way? Why, Andrew? Why?!"

"Because—!" He raises his voice in a sudden burst of impulsivity. The act leaves me with my eyes wide open, he didn't even seem to be close to a possible catharsis. He stops himself, breathing deeply and calming his tension before finally finishing it with a guilty tone: "Because I'm tired of pretending not to think about you all the time since Friday, Chester, that's why."

My whole wall of sullen collapses and I'm left astonished. It's impossible for me not to realize that this is the first time which a guy said something like that to me. I know it sounds cliche, I did have a lot of hookups and make outs during college and high school, but it never went further than that—a guy never told me that he was 'always thinking about me' and these types of stuff, and being Andrew (the most unpredictable one from all of the guys I've been with) the first one to do it makes my entire body flutter in a different kind of wave; a sensation that I never knew I was able to feel until now. I gladly don't even have to worry about responding him since he continues, "I tried to deny it, I tried to convince and control myself every single day since what happened. After all, I didn't want to make it troubled for you once you just got into the job. I wanted to give you the right impression as your boss... because I wanted you to stay. I want your experience at the office the best as it can be, and I thought that maybe an intercourse with your own boss wouldn't make it any easier. The truth is: I'm officially giving up on pretending that I'm not interested in you, but it's weird when all of it seems to be happening this soon, what makes all the rest seems to be kinda..."

"Unpredictable?" I say spontaneously. He glares me, eyes blazing delight. "I've been feeling it, too."

"Well, I don't wanna pretend anymore. I feel invested in you, Chester... more than professionally speaking, I must say," he corrects himself quickly when he notices he's going by the vague path again, and the way he does it makes me giggle. "I'm assuming the responsibility of doing what I did and officially calling you on a date.  Can we just have dinner tonight, at eight?"

"Tonight?"

"Yeah, why? You're busy?"

"No, not at all. It's just that... this is, as we agreed, soon."

"Oh... okay. Maybe next week, then? If you feel like it."

"N-No, no, I mean, tonight it's fine. It was just... _unpredictable_."

He smirks with something I would consider to be satisfaction.

"You know, by reading the stories from your blog I thought you liked things to be a little unpredictable."

"I do, it's just that... it doesn't happen to me at all," I sigh, however, I feel far from bored or tired. "I think that's why I idealize it so much... and now that it is in fact happening, I must admit, it feels kind of scary."

"Well, so I think the twist in your life plot just arrived," his lips curvs up again, suggestive.

"Yeah..." my voice is weak—light, actually—just like the rest of my body seems to be. "At eight, so?"

"At eight."

"Where are we going?"

"You choose."

"I can't choose, I've never been to a real date before, and LA is huge, so I don't know anywhere else besides coffee shops and fast food... and I suppose you wouldn't enjoy a dinner at McDonald's, am I right?"

"Heh, you guessed it," the detriment of an almost laugh coming from him encourages me to say:

"You should show me somewhere."

His eyes widen above me with intensity at the recognition of my plea.

"All right, then. You got it. I happen to know the perfect place."

"And that is...?" I ask hopefully.

His smile finally opens completely and, different from that awful first time during work, the shine that raises from it scares the shadows out of my soul and warms my body. It makes him look beautiful. More than he already is... if that's somehow possible.

"It's a surprise," he says.

"Oh—fine!" I chuckle, embarrassed.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

We stagnate for a second, more than we should, smiling condescend at each other. And it feels like a whole minute before we catch the glow of Hannah's blue dyed hair reverberating through the gray crowd.

"This is going to be our little secret, okay?" He whispers, throwing a cheeky wink at me before Hannah arrives at us. The way he says it brings thrilling shivers down my spine, it's almost like we both are naughty kids secretly sharing the excitement of having to do something considered forbidden under the eyes of adults. I nod at him.

"Andrew? What are you doing here?" Hannah's voice shows that she's not okay with the whole situation.

"I was just passing by when I saw Chester, he told me what happened. Are the kids okay?"  I'm impressed by the way he can lie so easily.

She looks at me with a turbulent look on her face like she's about to cry, and I immediately feel sorry for her. She turns back at Andrew and sobs, "Can I talk with you outside for a moment?"

"Sure," his voice sounds so worried and soft that makes me shiver. I'm astonished—can he lie this well? Actually, it almost feels like he's truly concerned about Hannah and cares about her situation like he had an intimacy going long enough with her to the point of being called for chatting with her in particular about an issue.

I really hope the second option is the real one.

They leave, and I stare at their personal conversation through the pizzeria's glass window as if I'm watching a black and white silent film. Hannah's arms fly around the air dramatically as she begins to vent; Andrew still with his arms crossed above his chest as he listens carefully to her until she—unable to talk any further—comes undone, and he gives her a hug, assuring that everything was going to be okay.

Until this moment, I've never seen Andrew act like this... acting so caring towards someone.


	16. 16

The penny only drops once I'm back home by the evening, pondering about what should I wear.

_I have a date with Andrew_.

It still not sounds right, so I do it again, this time out loud.

"I have a date with Andrew. He called me on a date. A guy like Andrew called me on a date. A guy like him wants to date me!"

What were the odds of this actually happening in my life?

No, really, what were the odds? The answer is: none. That's why I'm slowly starting to freak the fuck out. By this point in my life, I never thought I would be attending a fancy date, so I never bother buying nice clothes since I was never trying to impress someone... at least not before Andrew.

Oh, gosh! I don't think I have any clean laundry. Actually, I don't think I _even_ have the proper wear to be _even_ clean for this.

I rush to the washing room, hoping to find anything anyone would consider decent when I cross close to my full-length mirror by the hallway and try to discreetly check myself. I almost choke at the sight of my image. Oh. My. Goodness. Have I always looked that ugly? I'm a mess.

_Calm down, Chester. There's nothing wrong with you. You're just paranoid. Get yourself together. You have a date with Andrew, do not mess this up. This is something that will probably happen once in your lifetime. So if we're doing this, we're doing it right._

Okay.

I take a deep breath.

Focus. Clothes. Great.

I march to the washing room, going through the basket. I find some clean stuff, but that's when another worry hits me: what kind of date this is? Should I dress elegantly or casual as the last time? Holy fuck, why the heck I didn't ask him this earlier? I don't even know where I'm going since it is a 'surprise'. I can't seem to get a single clue!

I start breathing sharply. I think I'm going to die. I feel like screaming 'fuck!' at the top of my lungs.

_It's gonna be all right._ I tell myself, looking at my clean shirts. I have a cotton jacket, a black button shirt and, if I be quick, I can dry my nice pair of pants. Yeah. I can work this out. I can look good without looking too fancy or too casual. I can pull this off.

I put my pants in the dryer and rush back to my room, keeping the positive thinking on my mind. I slowly start getting control over myself again once I begin trying the outfit. It doesn't look bad. Thankfully.

And then, the fear inside of me starts being replaced with excitement. I spontaneously smile at myself in the mirror, thinking the same thing I said earlier, but with a different tone.

_Andrew called me on a date._

I feel like hopping all around the room like an overjoyed kid trying to disperse his intoxication from a sugar rush. My stomach flutters under the effect of too many switches of emotions that come only at the thought of going out with him. I can't remember the last time I felt like this over a guy. Actually, I think this might be the first one.

Swiftly, now I want to go on this date more than ever. The cheerful kid inside of me has turned into an impatient one, and like the good brat he is, he's saying: I want it now!

I wait until the pants are dry to wear them along with the black Converses. I walk back and forth in front of the looking glass. I don't feel a lot of confidence, but I'll try my best with what I have.

_Will this be enough? Will this be enough for Andrew's standards? I bet he must look amazing right now. Way better than me. But you know what? Whatever—I bet he can look better than anyone even wearing a trash bag as an outfit._

This kinda pisses me off—the way he seems so good-looking and confident no matter what. This all just seems so easier to him. I bet all of the things must come easy for Andrew just because of his charm.

Here come the tendrils again. I can recognize, in the bottom of my feelings, an insecurity masked with a nuance of rage and envy.

_Stop it, Mike. Don't let this put you down tonight. This is your time to shine, and you will not let yourself mess it up._

I inhale sharply and straddle myself to the window threshold. He must be here at any minute.

When I see his car parking outside, I don't even wait for my phone to start buzzing. I run for the mirror, checking myself for the last time (dodging the groan I would give for being so frustrated about my hair never being the way I want it to be), and head for the door.

My heart skips a beat at every single step I take, longing for seeing him.

"I have a date with Andrew," I whisper to myself discreetly, still trying to make my mind process the information as a fact, not a fantasy. Anticipation bubbles up inside of me as I get closer to his car.

He pushes the door open to me and I straddle myself inside.

"Hey," he says, not taking his eyes off while waiting for me to comfort myself on the seat.

"Hi," I reply shyly, forcing myself to drag a saluting at him. He's wearing a long-sleeved gray sweatshirt. _Gosh! He's practically not even using anything fancy and he looks fantastic!_ I would probably comment something about his looks if it wasn't Andrew—with his abnormal power of always draining my words and complexion.

"You look sweet," he says, catching me by surprise. I repress a gasp as I turn my eyes back at him. This time, his wrinkles are softened and his gaze drifts peacefully around me, almost if he's scanning my soul, looking for bringing the best of it out of me.

I stay stagnated for a slip second, contemplating him in the same way he seems to do to me. I stop as I feel my cheeks burning, sitting straight and facing the alleyway, saying, "Thank you... you do, too."

He starts guiding the car around the streets and the silence hangs between us, I feel like the air will start stinking of awkwardness if any of us don't do anything soon.

As I'm watching the traffic, looking for a random subject, he reaches for the radio and turns it on. _Thank you._

 

_'When you're alone, and life is making you lonely, you can always go...'_

 

_'Downtown'_. By Petula Clark. I know this song very well; I check twice before holding my jaw of falling—it's his playlist again, and, once more, he seems to know every song I know.

"So, what kind of music do you like?" He asks me. _Oh, my god, we're actually doing this, aren't we?_

"What about you tell me where are you taking me first, and then we can chat," I'm almost pleading for an answer since my anxiety threatens to slash my body apart.

"I told you it was a surprise, but we're are getting there anyway."

Once I'm sure my persistence won't be enough to hammer his thick wall of stubbornness down, I adjust myself on the seat, waiting for the best while looking at the streets. We are far away from where he picked me, but, somehow, the path he's talking is extremely familiar, and... wait... is that building...?

"Is that BuzzFeed's headquarters?" I ask in an unsure way.

His smugly smirks rises, shifting the relaxed air between us with sass. "You aren't pulling here, are you, Andrew?" He doesn't say a word—the exact answer I need, he _is_ pulling over here. "Wow! You took your employee to his own job during a date. That's what I would call a competent boss."

"Wait for it." My sarcasm of disappointment can't compete with his security. The way he says it—like he's completely enjoying the fact that he knows that I don't have any idea of what's coming my way—makes it sound threatening... and worryingly arousing.

I gulp down the lump in my throat as he passes over the parking lot with his car, the building being left behind us. _Oh, he isn't taking me at BuzzFeed, but... somewhere else at BuzzFeed?_

We get into the background of the headquarter; his car takes an unpaved road without any lights around. The car's headlights are the only thing keeping us on our way, shining through a dense, endless line of thick trees and bushes.

"What _is_ this place?" I ask quizzically.

"I think it's time for you to meet the firm's studios."

"Oh!" I turn my head at him, suppressing the urge of clapping my hands. I can't lie, I'm actually excited for this; I've been living in LA—the global film city—for a long time, but I must admit, I've never seen a real-life movie studio in person before.

He side-glances me as he picks on the subtle change of tone in my voice— _I hate how of a good perceptive observer he seems to be_ —and then says, "Are you excited?"

I would say he said it in an encouragingly way, I mean, as 'encouragingly' as it can get in his monotone voice. _Oh, god! Why would a guy like him even agree to go out with me? He must think I look like a kid or a dog getting excited over this as if I am going to a walk in the park or something._

"That's okay," he continues, "don't be shy."

The way he needs to say to me not to be shy only makes it worse. I feel like I'm dependent on some older figure to tell me what's okay to feel or not to feel.

The only response I give is a reluctant nod before I shrink myself even further into my place.

A whole different building emerges from around the corner. It is actually different from everything I've seen before, but not much different from what I would expect from a studio. The metal ceiling perfectly curving on both sides, making an oval dome in its architecture. There's also a huge metallic door in the main front, followed by a series of glass windows.

"Here we are," he says while parking right in front of the entrance. The door locks click open, and I get outside. The first thing a feel is cold, not a disturbing cold just an annoying one; the dry leaves of the previous season drifts around our feet as he pushes the door open enough for me to enter.

I nod at him in a silent 'thank you' as I get inside. There aren't a lot of lights around here, the whole area feels dim except from somewhere by the end of the room, where two spotlights are laying on. I don't think it's bad, actually—living in a buzzy town for years has made me appreciate everything that is silent or not too bright from time to time. It brings me a feeling of intimacy and temperance.

"Here," he calls before closing the door behind me, and firmly rests his hand on my shoulder, leading me to a certain place in the studio. His touch echoes inside my bowels, and I can feel his warm pulse pumping above my skin as we walk through a series of  equipment—wires, and huge cameras and panels are everywhere around me. Our footsteps scratch the silent until I get to the part of the room that he wanted me to see.

There's a table for two, of course, and some curious stuff: an oven, a counter, a refrigerator, and all kinds of cutlery—it looks like a scenographic kitchen.

Before I can ask what place this is, he states, as if reading my thoughts, "This is where I shoot my shows."

"Your shows?" I ask, resting by the table as he continues to walk further into the kitchen, going over the pans over the oven as if he was checking something. "So you direct some stuff around here...?"

"Sometimes. I'm more of a host than a director."

My eyes widen, "Oh, so... do you cook?"

He glances at me, his lips curving up in an almost embarrassed smirk. "Yes, I do."

I wait until he turns his back at me again for me to smile freely. _A guy who cooks... this just keeps getting interesting._

He starts bringing back a huge pan that looks almost like a cartoony witch's cauldron. "Are you disappointed?" His question is not what I was expecting—and the small string of worry that hangs from his voice even less—, what makes me feel more worried about myself ( _Do I look disappointed to him?)._ I hope I don't look dull or clumsy close to this guy. I don't wanna give him the wrong impression.

"Wha?! N-No, no! Not at all!" I deny it as quickly as possible. Then, as I'm about to sit down, a perfect thought crosses my mind, and I add, "Actually, that's even better."

"Oh, yeah? How come?" He pulls his long sleeves all up to his forearm after resting the pan on the small table, his eyes blazing with curiosity.

"Yea. We won't need to go over the annoying talk of splitting the bill." _Also, the fact that you actually took your own time to cook something for me on our first date it's too cute for me to even bear it._ But I'm not saying that since my standards are far from this sassy, and insecure enough to play with Andrew's apparent cold limits.

I can see his eyes falling along with his head, it's his ongoing manner of trying to hide a laugh that I'm already too familiar with. A muffled chuckle comes out and I'm more than joyful for it—I know he liked what I just said, and I also know that anyone who isn't his long-term friend can't make him do that... what makes me feel somewhat of empowerment.

"Heh, I guess you’re right."

"Then, what are we having tonight, chef?"

He answers my question by finally opening the pan's lid. The instant hot aroma waves through my nostrils, and the spiciness of the sauce flings in the air, almost inviting and extremely familiar... _Are those... tomatoes?_

I know this?

"Is this...?" it clicks. I do.

"It is." He captures my reaction, nodding as the gets down to get a basket full of buns from under the table.

"Are we having hotdogs?!" I can't avoid my childish mouth fall of showing up. It's like my own dad had just told my seven-year-old self that we were having ice-cream for breakfast.

"Yep. With white wine, by the way."

"I thought it was going to be something super extravagant! That's so... everything!"

"It's nice to put some bit of thought in the things I do sometimes," he says enigmatically as if I was supposed of understanding that somehow.

"What do you mean?" I say while grabbing a bun, I'm not wasting any time.

"I mean it was a funny story." He glances at me; his eyes hold a delight that seems to come from somewhere far away from this room.

"Share it. This is a date." It feels nice to be finally encouraging him into doing something, not the other way around.

He sighs. "Okay..." He starts by grabbing a bun and making his own meal. "Do you know 'Worth It' from BuzzFeed?"

I shake my head, making a negative statement. _Actually, I still don't know shit about this company, but I'm not saying that since, in the end, he stills my boss._

"All right, it's one of my shows. Steven, Adam and I get to travel across the US looking for a specific kind of food ranging from its cheapest to most expensive price. We eat three different price ranges from the food he chooses and try to decide which one was better."

"I bet you've got to see a lot of unique stuff out there," my thinking comes aloud in an almost melancholic sound; I _do_ feel kinda envious of Andrew's lifestyle—as well as from all the other people that get to work at BuzzFeed for a long time. Everything just seems too exciting and marvelous... way far from what my poor range can grasp.

"Yes, but that is the point! There was this episode that I can't seem to forget in which we were testing hotdogs. We compared an LA standard fast-food dog to a two-thousand dollar one in Seattle."

I almost spit all of my food before even taking the first bite, "Two-thousand dollars on a hotdog?! Who pays for that?!"

"We did, believe it."

"It must taste like the tears of  a god."

"That's where it was going for. The thing is: this hotdog was so critically acclaimed, so prized and idealized that it even made into the Guinness book of world records. We were pumped for this shit! We drove a full road trip just to get to this place, we were ready, we were just ready for it."

"And...?"

"And the thing looked marvelous! I mean—marvelous! It had caviar and truffles on it. Caviar! Truffles! On. The. Fucking. Sausage. Now thinking back, I believe it even had sprinkles of edible gold on it."

"That explains it. And how was it?"

"Exactly. We fucking bit on that thing, and..." He paused, as amused as I am. "And even though we smiled and praised this fucking expensive hotdog in front of the cameras, when I and Steven looked at each other in the eye we could see how terribly disappointed we all were."

I put the bread back on the plate.

"Oh, come on!"

"I swear I'm not joking. It was terrible!"

"Don't tell me you actually prefer a greasy ass, fast-food hotdog over something like this!"

"I did, Chester. Actually, I _do_."

I start chuckling, "Then what was the point, though? It was a waste of your time, Andrew. Of everyone's time. Nothing of it was 'worth it' in the ending. What you're even bothering to tell me a story with a floppy moral?"

"Because, as I said, that's the point, Chester. I didn't waste my time, and the experience _was_ totally worth it."

I stop and glance at him, trying to get what he's trying to say. "But... how?"

He lowers his head along with his voice and sighs deeply.

"What I'm _exactly_ trying to say is... Sometimes you have to go all the way around the world to see that the best opinion has been the one closest to you all along. Sometimes you don't even need what you think you need, or everything that you are used to idealize so much may not actually be what it seems in a closer look. Sometimes... simpler can be... nicer."

Everything in my mind gets blank. His words pass right through me, stingy and sharply; they feel so... real. Real it hurts. I put my vision over the table again, watching the steamy bubbles of sauce gathering up in the surface of the cauldron. "Simpler as this meal could get..." I say in a contemplative whisper, more for me than to him.

He nods with satisfaction.

"But, wait a second!" I jolt my head right back up. "What does this has to do with me—I mean, with our date?"

"Oh... that!" He chuckles fearlessly now. "That's because while we're shooting, Steven told me a fact about hotdogs that you made resurface on my memory recently: they were Mickey Mouse's first words in a Disney's animated film."

"Oh... 'hotdogs'? Really?"

"No, actually..." standstill, he looks at me with a corrective, serious look. "'Hotdogs!'" He mimics Mickey's voice in a terribly perfect way and I laugh.

"Shut up, Andrew." I get back into making my food, but he doesn't stop with the teasing.

"Not until you say it in Mickey's voice."

"Don't try me."

"Say it. I'm your boss and that's an order."

"Can we eat now?"

"Say it, Chester. Please."

"Andrew...!" I try warning him, but my voice is too cracked with laughter to even come as annoyed.

"'Hotdogs!'" He mimics the character once again. "Hotdogs, Pluto!"


	17. 17

We eat in almost silence now. This hot dog is probably one of the best things I've ever eaten in my whole life. Andrew seems to be such a great and experienced cook to this point. However, I try not to praise him so much or show a lot of how much I'm enjoying this, since he naturally seems to be too full of himself most of the time, and I don't wanna massage his ego even more.

The wine almost tastes as good in my mouth, it feels silky and seems to warm not just our bodies, but our whole conversation.

At some point, he gestured to the ketchup bottle to grab my attention. I flinched my nose, shaking my head. He looked at me, asking, "Not a fan of ketchup as well?". I told him I prefer mustard and he nodded. "Ketchup is for kids," he said.

Now, he's telling me about his shows at BuzzFeed. There's one which he tries to replicate internet viral recipes, which makes me super interested in hearing more about what he came across while shooting it.

"I didn't expect you to have this deep connection with gastronomy," I say as I feel our line of dialogue getting thinner, I'm trying to compensate over the fact that, even though he just told me a bunch of stuff about himself, I have a feeling deep inside telling me that I didn't even scratch the surface of Andrew's personality.

"It surprises most people since most of them think that I look so stereotypically Californian to be interested in anything that isn't entertainment related."

I was going for another bite when I stop myself at his words. "Oh, so... you're not from here?"

He shakes his head. "No. I grew up in New Jersey, I was born and raised there. My mom used to be a cook, I get it from her I think. She was amazing at making cheesecakes mostly."

"So you're a countryside boy as well, huh?"

He smiles. "I guess we both are."

Silence drapes over us as I chew on my last bite of the meal. I reach for the bottle of wine, Andrew does at the same time, our fingers lightly rubbing against each other; his skin is soft, yet firm, and feels energizing against my cold one, sending electric waves through me. The energy sparks warmth between us as we raise our heads and meet each other's eyes. I'm about to say sorry when something breaks his attention, dragging his gaze back to my hand. It disrupts me as well, as I feel something unusually hot and drippy running between my fingers.

Blood.

"Did... did you hurt yourself?" He grabs my hand gently, but I shove it away—hiding it under the table, in the middle of my legs, pressing it with my other hand to stop the bleeding—as I remind myself of how I got hurt.

The glass in my house's kitchen. ( _'We shouldn't me friends'_.)

"It is nothing."

"It looks bad," he says to me in a warning, worried manner, almost like a parent. "There were cuts all over."

"I said it's nothing, Andrew."

"Don't you think you could work with a proper curative, like gauze or—"

"It's fine." I lower my gaze away from his as I cut him off harshly, I don't wanna keep remembering it.

The cold, analyzing silence that comes from him next feels almost like a heavy soaked blanket over my body—sticky and uncomfortable. I already know he's trying to read me again as he always seems to do.

"What?" I snap, shooting my annoyance right through his eyes.

I feel slightly embarrassed as I watch him indifferently staying still for a little longer, before saying to me with an intrigued aura, "I wanna talk about you now, Chester. I've been longing to know more about you."

From all of the things he could have said, this is the one I last expected for him to choose.

"There's really not much to know about me." And it really doesn't.

"I bet it does. Tell me, why do you choose an English major?"

"It was something I always wanted to do." That's the answer I always give when people ask me this.

"Yeah, but that wasn't my question. I want to know _why_ you choose it."

A lump forms in my throat. That was new. Usually, people take my formulaic say as a satisfying answer and live it alone. But, of course, this doesn't seem to work with Andrew. Despite what he says, 'simpler' doesn't seem to equal 'sufficient' for him... at least not when it comes to me.

I don't answer. No way I'm telling him about my deplorable history of feeling bored and dull my whole life, and using fictional stories to escape from it; it would sound pathetic. And I don't even have time to come up with something convincing (There's also a part of me that tells me that doesn't matter how much real my story could look, if it was a lie Andrew would be able to know it somehow), so I just stay shut.

"You know what?" He says, pushing the bottle to his direction. "What about a game then?"

"You're not pulling the truth or dare card with me, are you?"

"I'm not Hannah," he says that weirdly, almost like her name was a restrained subject. "Let's play Never Have I Ever. Then, it's easier."

"Okay," I shrug.

"One shot of wine chugged down at each round, all right?"

_This can't end up well._ I tell myself, but his cocky smirk ripples above his face again, bringing the thrills of that secret excitement of ours back, and I just shrug again. I _want_ this to not end up well; I want Andrew to bring me the worst as we can get together.

I want to see how far he's eager to go tonight.

"Great," he coos, resting his back on the chair and taking the wine glass on his hand, twisting the stem between his fingers, "then, _Never Have I Ever_..." He obviously pretends to sink into a thoughtful state while looking for the right question. "... tried to escape my hometown by choosing the farthest college available."

_I am this obvious, don't I?_

Without saying a word, I swallow the rest of my drink, grabbing the bottle next in order to fill it again. He doesn't even care to fake a reaction—of course, I _am_ this obvious.

"My turn," I say. "Never have I ever pretended to be straight in the workplace."

He nags with his head, and I doubly squint my eyes at him.

"I never pretend anything." He replies.

"Oh, yeah? And that stunt two days ago, was it real?" I put the knife right into his most visible wound, and I'm not afraid of twisting it.

"That was a different thing. You're asking me about my sexuality at work, and I repeat: I never 'pretend' anything. Some people just like to keep the subject of being bisexual low."

_That's some news! Right where I was aiming for. So, he's not gay, but bi. That's interesting._ Anyway, I try not to show any emotion in front of my new discovery. "You go on," I wave at him dismissively.

"Never have I ever felt... _below_ someone."

Now he's got to be kidding. I'm just starting to get stressed with him when he continues, unexpectedly correcting himself, "Actually, never have I ever felt below someone and _liked_ feeling like it," his voice becomes husky and uncommon, his gaze walking inside of me as if taking an uninvited tour in the most complex, unexplored sites of my soul, "like someone's unquestionable power over me, above my own wills and wishes could be considered—let's say... hot."

My fingers tighten around the stem of the glass along with my legs under the table. I know he's already scanning me, looking for those precise reactions.

I drink from my cup, and his eyes glitter with assertion; I shouldn't have drunk it that fast since I'm already starting to feel like I could see myself out of my own body, as if my soul was lightly slipping out from my bones while the alcohol begins to take over.

"Never have I ever fancy myself," I ask this because I know if he denies it, he will only be confirming it.

"Come on, being self-aware that you're handsome isn't the same as to be full of yourself." See? There he goes.

"Shut up and drink up, Andrew. You know that's a lie."

I can feel how much he detest the way I just bossed him around since he hesitates on taking the shot. "All right, but not because you said. But because it's the truth." The way he just says that aloud before drinking is all I need.

"Wow, someone seems to be a control freak..." I keep teasing since the booze only makes me feel more confident.

"Heh," he chuckles mischievously, "you haven't even begun to see the surface of it, Chester."

I shiver. A way too _good_ shiver.

"All righty," he cleans his throat, putting his empty glass back to the table, getting comfortable, "let's ask a real question, then." As he sticks he legs forward, his shoed foot slightly rubs on my legs. "Never have I ever... felt like having sex on a first date."

My whole body feels aware of itself as I, shamelessly as fuck, grab the wine firmly and chug it down at once. When I'm back at gazing at him, the silent tension between us escalates, being almost possible of being cut through with a knife.

Unexpectedly, he sighs, takes the bottle on his hands and pours the liquid into his glass. Then, Andrew whispers to me, "So I guess we finally have something in common."

He swallows his shot.


	18. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: contains erotic humiliation (name-calling/degradation) and traces of Alpha/Omega dynamic.

We are outside the studio now, not much after him asking me if I felt like hiking around LA's tropical-like woods that exist close by BuzzFeed's headquarters like a huge natural backyard.

The liquor audaciously dangles over our heads as we walk slowly under the moonlight and the smell of sand and sea air, laughing about the most trivial and stupid shit anyone could imagine.

We keep on mumbling Petula Clark's _Downtown_ together along the way, the lyrics slurring with our slight drunken voice and laughter.

"Okay. Favorite food?" I ask him, we have been playing this back and forth question game for a while now.

"That's so easy—Pizza. Yours?"

"Not sure, anything that has cheese, to be honest. I think mac n' cheese, probably."

"Cheese, huh? You know, it just keeps getting harder not to compare you with Mickey with all of those mouse stereotypes. By the way, cat or dog person?" He asks me.

"Kittens for the win."

"I had a feeling."

"What's that supposed to even mean?"

"I can spot a cat person."

"And how do they look like?"

He pauses; his sideglance now feels like needles darting on my skin. "Intense," he replies. "Like cats, they aren't afraid of some secretly time-to-time action, even though they usually look cute, entertaining or careless to other people. They keep their own world to their personal selves; we never actually seem to know precisely what's a cat's personality in the end, even when they seem to show us."

"Ha! This doesn't make any sense. I thought you just called me a mouse, aren't they supposed to be scared of cats? You're a cat person, too, right? Am I supposed to be scared of you?"

He stops; we turn at each other at the same time. "What if I told you that you should... how would you feel about that?"

His words taste bitter in my mouth. For all I know, if I heard this coming from anyone, I should be definitely worried. However, instead of disturbance, all I feel from his threatening aura is—"Excited," I reply weirdly, but certain of my own answer.

He grins, my say affects him directly, awakening his interest; his fingers tap above the glass of the wine bottle he holds as if what I said surprised him somehow and now he's pondering about it.

"So I guess there's more to your surface, then. I don't think you're just a fragile mouse, but a fragile mouse with nuances of a cat-person." For a second, Andrew's eyes seem to gleam brighter, obfuscating the rest of this body into the shade—the scene reminds me just of when a stray cat comes across you in the middle of the night in an empty street: its feline, predatory eyes shining intimidatingly in the darkness like a nightmarish pair of headlights. Suddenly, it gives me a subtle adrenaline rush, and I feel like running away really fast just like the coward rat I usually am—the only thing keeping me here is the curiosity of my small cat-like side, mesmerized by the thrill of seeing where this is going. "Or... a fragile mouse that, tired of his own inescapable natural weakness, wants to be more like a cat. Hmm... that's the question. What do _you_ think the answer would be, Chester?"

My courage disperses from one second to another as I fathom his words. _Did he just call me weak?_ "I don't know," I murmur, lowering my head (there I go with the boring-bland-Mike persona again).

"Anyway," he guides me further into my sandy trail. "Here we are."

"What do you mean 'here'?"

"The place I wanted to take you."

The sea's smell just gets stronger when Andrew brushes away some of the leaves and branches in front of us, making room for me to pass. It's a beach. A small-scale, seemingly deserted beach. There are rocks all around the sand, helping the waves break while cupping, at the same time, some of the sea's water into a small puddle that looks like a natural Jacuzzi. It looks so tidy, beautiful and... romantic.

"This is—wow!—stunning..." I take a sharp intake of breath, avoiding my surprise at getting louder.

"I thought you'd be impressed," Andrew tries saying like he doesn't care, but I know he's proud of himself and more than relieved of seeing me having a positive reaction. He starts putting his hands behind his own neck, pulling his shirt up.

"W-What are you doing?" I stutter.

"What do you think am I doing? I'm going in. Did you think I would miss having this?"

"You—" I forget how to speak, breath and even think once a have the first full sight of his naked torso. His body is _way_ nicer than how it seemed to look before. I could not ever imagine that all of this would have been hidden so discreetly under his long-sleeved baggy shirts that he's always wearing—like, I literally wouldn't believe if anyone else told me about. This guy's biggest talent which I can see until now is the way he manages to set me in a new surprise by the second. My face feels like is on fire, and my nape starts to tingle. " _This_ was hidden under there all along?!" I shout in shock, obnoxiously pointing to his chest.

_Yep. I'm definitely drunk. I would never say something like that while sober._

He laughs at me. I think I can see his cheeks flushing for a split second, but, when he bends down to slip out of his shoes and pants, his face is swallowed by the darkness once again before I'm able to say with precision. I already _love_ his laugh more than his smile, it was so short-lived that I almost beg him to keep doing it, thankfully I'm taken aback; I already said something equally embarrassing.

"You looked so skinny..." I continue saying shit about his body.

Only on his plain black boxer briefs, he kicks some of the sand at me. "I'll be waiting for you," he tells me before sprinting to the puddle surrounded by rocks and dipping himself into the water. The sound of the splash washes over my perceptions, breaking my attention from his trance-inducing hunk-like body, and I realize that I'm by myself, standing still on the sand while fully-clothed.

He submerges from his swim, his wet face now glittering more intensely under the moonlight, his dark blonde fringe draping across his face—making him shake his head in order to flip his hair to one side, off his eyes; what makes him even more charming. He swims to the border closest to me, putting both of his muscly arms above the rock, beckoning me to join in.

"Are you coming or what?"

_Or what_ , I think to myself. I didn't expect to undress in front of him so soon, and this all makes me feel somewhat of uncomfortable; I have kind of an issue of showing my body, mostly from my waist up, publicly like this. And the way Andrew's one is way more different than mine, and the form which he doesn't seem to hold a single problem on showing it explicitly, only makes me feel even more intimidated.

While thinking about this, I watch my feet sinking on the sand. Once I raise my head back up, ready to give an excuse for not jumping in with him, I found Andrew's eyes over me in a puzzled look; his irises run through me in a gust of pity and acknowledgment. He already knows what this is all about.

After a brief moment of silence, Andrew pats his hand on the border of the stone, and says, "Chester, come here." His voice feels like a demand like he's warning me that I got no choice. I have the same familiar feeling of when I was a little boy, being scolded by a parent. Just like that, I walk towards Andrew, obedient as a shadow. "Good boy," he praises me in a whisper, I'm not sure if he's serious or just fucking with me; either way, I like it. It makes feel actually proud and rewarded of myself.

As I get closer to the water, his eyes widen over me along with the sound of waves breaking all around us. "Sit," he asks; like a puppy, I sit down on the damp floor without saying a word or even hesitating. He leans forward, getting closer to me. My heart warms as he puts his mouth close to my ear and purrs, "You don't need to be scared, okay? I bet you have anything to be ashamed of."

I stay silent, holding back on the sweetness of his words for as long as I can. For the first time, his voice is soft and I can perfectly feel how encouraging he's trying to be with it. It feels awesome inside of me.

"Will you come in with me now, please?" If it wasn't for his inescapable force over me, which seems like he knows that it makes me feel like I could do anything for him if he asked me to, I would swear he's almost begging for me to join him.

I nod, unable to keep talking any further.

"Trust me with this." Already certain of the fact that I won't be capable of taking my clothes off by myself without having an embarrassment attack, Andrew takes the liberty of gliding his hands underneath my shirt, pulling it out slowly. His fingers on my skin echo inside my whole body, letting a trail of goosebumps everywhere he touches.

My shirt now lays on the ground, not too far away from me. In a matter of seconds, he also takes off my shoes and socks, gently putting them close by. The tension between us escalates as he puts my legs over his shoulders in order to pull my pants off. Andrew unbuttons my fly and pulls it back down—the way he seems to know what he's doing so well is mesmerizing to me. While my whole self is stiffed, Andrew seems to go with ease, his jaw doesn't clench and any vein pops up even for a second as his gaze rakes over my body once I see myself only on my underwear (a blue cotton boxer printed with white bones and black dog paws; it looks terribly childish now that I have Andrew seeing it in front of me. Well, I wasn't expecting to show my undies tonight to someone else anyway). He isn't surprised at all.

"I knew you would be perfect," he says and smiles at me. After that, he puts his index finger on my thigh, tracing his finger around the colorful pattern of my underwear with an enchanted look. "So pure," he coos, and then, swims back so I can jump in.

My entirety freezes and warms at the same time at the sight of his say and his distinctive features. And I can't reply anything besides flushing all over my face and collarbone, what seems to be enough of an answer for him since he chuckles after recognizing my reaction, and invites me in again; this time only using his eyes.

I slide out of the border, jumping right in only to regret it immediately—the water is cold, too cold. "Fuck!" I hiss out loud, my bottom lip already trembling. Andrew seems to have fun with it.

"Don't be so dramatic, Chester." Even though he's being sarcastic, it annoys me the same way.

"Oh, shut your mouth," I swat my hand on the water, splashing it to his face.

"Did you just splashed me?" He says, pretending to be mad.

"Oh, do you mean this?" I do it again on propose, getting into the joke.

He splashes me back more strongly and within seconds a fight starts between us in a friendly exchange of teasing and laughs.

"You're going to pay for that!" He yells while coming after me, I laugh out loud in a cartoonish malevolent way, swimming away from him, trying to escape any type of punishment he holds for me.

However, he's faster and grabs me by the chest, pulling me closer to him and stagnating me into place when his legs wrap around my waist, holding my arms tight by my side. My back is against his chest, and the movement seems to catch us both in surprise since he keeps silence. I can feel all of his body closer than ever; different from the last times, there aren't any clothes separating us, and the one single piece that both of us are wearing, the boxers, are now damp from the sea—the fabric glued to our skin, letting every rest of hidden parts our bodies prominent.

I can feel his chest getting harder, stiffening and relaxing in brief periods of time—it's his breathing getting heavier. And, suddenly, the water doesn't seem so cold anymore since the fire that starts between us warms it, almost bowling us together.

He rakes his hands around my torso, hugging me tightly.

"A-Andrew..."

"Do you want me to stop?"

_No._ "No," _Please, don't ever stop._ "Please, don't ever stop."

I can feel his heartbeat skipping fiercely against my back as soon as I say this. He lowers his head, burying his face in the space between my head and my shoulder, his lips start brushing my neck, barely touching my skin, and his breath radiates through me.

During this moment in which I start seeing myself getting lost into sensations again, I try to catch a glimpse of the most pleasing-looking thing I can find around the landscape in front of me since my position doesn't allow me to observe the prettiest thing of it all: Andrew.

I gaze at the water itself.

All of the stars are flawlessly reflected on the pool's dark surface, it's almost like we're both being drawn together into a whole another unexplored galaxy right underneath our feet; like we're swimming on the skies.

"What are you doing to me, Chester?" he breathes onto my skin, muffled by the line of small kisses he starts planting from my neck to my jaw. "I wanna do _so_ many things to you, you have no idea how much."

"What do you wanna do to me, Andrew?" I encourage him to keep talking, I like hearing his lustful voice and I don't want it to end so soon as mine starts slurring into a pant.

"I want to touch you. I want to make you feel things. Things that only I could do to you." His embrace tightens. I can now feel the bulge on his legs getting bigger, rubbing against my coccyx.

"Touch me how?" My voice is almost an inaudible sigh. _Just touch me already, damn it!_

"Like this," his right hand trickles down my belly, stopping at my crotch, where he grabs my bulge and starts stroking and pressing the tip of it with his thumb; the rest of his fingers close around the shaft.

All of my air seems to run away from my lungs and I close my eyes.

"I need you to say it," he moans into my ear, making my whole body tremble.

"Say... w-what?" I can bearly speak.

"I'm your master, Chester. I'm the one in control, okay?" His voice suddenly goes from lustful to warning in a matter of seconds, and I know he's dead serious—threatening even. "I want you to beg me. Tell me that you want me to do this to you. Tell me how much you want it."

"I want it a lot," I rush the words. I just want him to keep doing it to me, fast!

"What's that?" he teases, pretending not to listen.

"I want it a-a lot!" I almost scream.

"I'm your boss, you need to be more respectful if you want me to do something for you, Chester." I can feel his evil grin forming up even if I'm not looking. "What's the magic word?"

"Please... Sir!"

"That's a good boy," he praises, back into stroking me. I moan and whimper at the same time as he starts nibbling on my earlobe. "Now say that you need me, that you depend on me to feel good."

"I need you, Sir. Only you can make me feel good," I tell him desperately and his touch escalates around me.

"Oh, is that so?" He keeps this wicked facade, and then, his left hand goes from my chest to my hair and his fingers fists onto it, tugging my scalp aggressively. "You're just a desperate little bitch, aren't you, Pup?" he hisses harshly inside my ear.

"Yes, Sir!" I can't believe in what I'm saying, if it was anyone else saying those things to me—so humiliating and offensive—I would definitely feel broken, however, weirdly, Andrew's bad words can only make me feel more aroused; I've never thought I would feel like this before.

"I knew you'd be a deviant cunt from the moment I laid my eyes on you," he moans, Andrew's bulge circles around, grinding me from behind. His movements on my crotch intensifies, and I feel like my body is going to implode. I raise my free hand to his left arm, digging my nails into his skin. "Already like that on a first date? What a slut! You have so much to learn from me and be disciplined, Pup."

I don't have any idea of what he's talking about, or why he's calling me a 'pup', but I like it. A lot.

He rubs his chin around my neck, his scruff scratches my skin, and every single part of my body seems to shiver at once.

I'm almost losing it. I've never felt this way during a sexual intercourse; this... I don't know— _primal_ form, maybe? Like any of our morals matter, like we are just like animals obeying a hierarchical chain. For a second, all of my insecurities are gone and all I feel is this terrible urge of being dominated. On the flip side, even though this feels so new, it also feels so, so familiar. Andrew, unbelievably, knows exactly where to touch me; he seems to know all of my soft spots. And I, naturally saying exactly what he wants to hear in this lower, submissive form without hesitating at any moment makes me feel like we already did this before thousands of times. Like it is already a common thing for us.

"Andrew..." I moan his name out loud. At any other circumstance, I would feel embarrassed, but now I just feel like carelessly saying it over and over.

He pulls my head back, groaning with his husky voice inside my ear one more time, putting me on edge, "Say it again."

"A-Andrew..." I stutter, my voice being taken away by a moan as the pressure inside of me escalates by the second.

Andrew bites down on my neck, and I bite down on my lip. I can feel all of his length pulsing behind me, and I know we're both close.

My mind seems to shut down for an instant since I can't remember what just happened some seconds ago, but I remember enough to say it was awesome. I remember my whole body stiffening and relaxing at the same time, I remember losing my breath, I remember my back arching as he came behind me as well, and I remember the best of it... how good it felt.

Now I'm being hold back by Andrew's arms, which are avoiding me of getting drowned once my legs seem too weak to keep me steady on the sea waves. My body from the waist down still shaky, and I hold onto him as he hugs me tighter. We're both panting, longing for air as we try to calm ourselves down.

"You ok?" he asks me back into his standard monotone voice and mannerisms.

"Yeah? This was..." I just feel the need of saying how much I enjoyed it aloud, even though my previous reaction made it more than obvious.

"Something?" he risks in complementing my phrase.

"New," I say. "And good."

Andrew huffs—a muffled smugly laugh like he was clearly saying 'innocent you' in a disdain. He gets closer to my ear for the last time and murmurs what fills my soul with a reckless anticipation, "You haven't seen even the beginning of what I plan on doing to you yet."

_Wow!_ If I could describe how igniting the content of his sentence just felt in me now—even right after an orgasm—I would.

He frees me, dropping me back at the cold ocean, and I already miss the warmth between us. The icy cold now instantly feels more terrible than it was earlier.

I turn around to watch him; he sinks himself into the water before I can catch a glimpse of his face. In a weird swift, now I feel awkward again. I mean, it's weird. I and Andrew just did... _this_. It was something so simple, but it felt so much _more_. I really don't know how to explain this right now. It all feels so unreal, like a dream, something unreachable. I need time to process what is going on.

"Chester," he calls me after getting back to the surface, he's already too far from me. I mean, not only physically—he feels distant from everything, everything that just went down, everything that we just felt, distant from me. "We should go."

_What? Should we? But, we just started... didn't we?_ I could say this if it wasn't for the tone in which his words rely on. He's talking to me like we're back at the office, worse even, like when he was pretending nothing happened. Why is he talking to me like this so easily? Didn't anything of what we just did affect him at all? Like... nothing changed?

I just showed him the most intimate and secretive side of me—and he apparently did show his—, then why do I feel like it isn't bringing us any closer?

"Okay," regardless of what I just said, my tone of voice clearly shows that I'm definitely not okay with this at all. And he knows that, but he... doesn't seem to care.

"Okay. Let's go, then," he jolts right up, without directly looking at me during any second, and leaps the rocks, leaving the pool.

But I stay in for a little longer, rewinding everything in my mind, finding a possible terrifying conclusion that's too harsh for it to even fully cross my thoughts.

_Does he regret it?_


	19. 19

The drive back to my house is even more awkward. And I'm not talking like the usual type of awkward, like the one we had on the way towards the studio sooner, I'm talking about the disturbing kind of awkward. The ones we call 'the elephant in the room'.

The silence drains the coziness, and the sharp cold of the night pinches on our surroundings.

I feel like the first time Andrew ride me home during BuzzFeed's party, and it feels crushing.

"I can see your breathing getting steamy. You cold?" he asks while sideglancing me.

_You care?_

I nod in silence.

He frees his right hand from the stirring wheel and, without looking around; he reaches his hand in the back of the car. After some seconds, he pulls out a cotton hoodie and hands it in my direction. "Here. Keep it."

I wear it; it makes me feel a little bit better. It smells like coffee and some random male cologne. It smells like Andrew.

When he gets to my street, he takes his time to park. I would have to suppress my guffaw of seeing his terrible parking attempts if it wasn't for the dreadful angst that has been spreading inside of me during the last half-hour. Then, he questions me, his eyes gazing the distance, "Did you have a good time?"

The way he says it, trivial as a parent asking their kids how was their day in school in modus operandi, breaks me even further.

"Huhum," I hummer, unsure of what he wants to listen from me.

"Okay..." he says, his words low and impermeable. “I guess that's it, then." He tries smiling at me, and I try smiling back; it feels so forced on my cheeks. He leans forward and kisses me... on the cheek.

I stagnate. It's like he's being cold, but trying his best into not look like it. This attitude makes me feel like a deer in front of the headlights.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

My hand rests on the door handle, hesitating on opening it.

"See you tomorrow," I reply and open my way out.

I only hear his car leaving the alleyway once I'm up the stairs, close to my apartment.

I push the door slowly, just opening the right amount of space for me to enter, and then I close it the same way.

I lay my back on the wood of the passage, resting for a little bit.

What if Andrew is just interested in the... sex?

I mean, I wouldn't complain about it since... I'm not gonna lie, for all I've seen until now, he can do it _well_. But... I don't know.

There was something about our date, and the form he was so thoughtful in cooking our meal, and our talk, and the way he smiled and laughed, and the way he made me feel secure in my own flesh, and the way we touched each other... that made me feel like he could possibly be worth my time.

But then, I realize how uninviting it all was at the same time. How I didn't get to kiss him at all or to touch him back like he did to me...

I touch my chest, expecting that this slows down the hammering of my heart when I feel the different fabric of the hoodie he just gave me above my body.

I sniff it again, the way it smells makes it seems like he's close to me... closer than he ever was this whole night.

I bend my knees, sitting on the ground, against the door.

And I start crying.

~

Hannah chats with me on BuzzFeed's corridors about the events of yesterday. She tells me how pissed she is at whoever prank called her about her kid breaking an arm, and how she's determined in finding whoever did it since she knows it was someone in the office.

I feel so bad about not telling her the truth. Actually, I feel bad about not telling her lots of stuff. With my make outs and stuff going on with Ilnyckyj, I feel the need of telling it all to a friend—to tell her—, and ask for advice, but I can't. Andrew is my boss; this would ruin my reputation on the job, not to mention that I just got here. He also told me not to tell, so...

"And how are they now?" I ask.

"They're great, bubbly than ever. By the way, Wyatt and Jackson are non-stop talking about you since your first day. They're always going on about meeting their uncle who wears the cat shirt." Her aura positively rises as soon as she gets to mention her sons. I'm glad I brought it up, my friendship with Hannah is recent, but I already hate seeing her sad or in rage. I would do all it takes to keep her cheerful personality up.

"That's so pure," I chuckle. "I love how they just assume I'm family."

"Oh, but you are, Mike! This makes me remember: do you wanna hang out sometime? I mean, in my house, with my boys?" she asks, her eyes full of hope and expectations.

My heart melts at every single word of what she says. I can't believe on how friendly, sympathetic and inviting she can always be towards me. It makes me literally honored in being friends with her.

"Hannah! I would _love_ this! Of course!" I say immediately.

"So let's work on the date," she pouts excitedly. "This is going to be so awesome."

"Yeah! Really, though, let's do it."

"Wyatt and Jackson are going to flip when they hear this, oh my god! This is almost like a play date, I can't wait already."

We still walking down the hallway, the lunchtime it's almost over by now, and we need to get to the studios. Today is the day the filming of the short movie starts, and I can't wait to see how it is going to go. Hannah put me as 'production assistant' alongside Allison, the producer itself, my job is to make sure the actors go by what's on the script correctly, answering any possible question they could have about it, making sure misconceptions and misdirection are avoided. I have never worked with anything like this before, not even similar, not even in college, so this is going to be something new for me. I hope they go easy on me since I might not have any single idea of what I'm doing.

The chatter of the studio echoes louder as we finally get inside, the perfect acoustics of the site making sure they're noticed. From afar, I faintly hear the voices of Allison and someone else which I'm not sure I know yet, however, I'm sure of something: they're already rehearsing the scenes. The lines cascade around the building in a theatrical way, immersing everything in this charming ludic aura.

"Oh, there you are," says Allison as soon as she catches a glimpse of me and Hannah. "I thought you gave up coming to work."

I scan the scenario, it all seems amazing. I immediately know they're working on the scene I wrote since the set looks just as I imagined it to be—a bar. My heart melts at every single thing I see, the feeling of having something you created come to life is unexplainable. All of the production team looks at me, and I just know that it must be not only because I'm the new guy, but because of my reaction of pure bliss—I bet my eyes are glittering like a kid watching their most desired toy in the showcase.

"So I guess you're the one responsible for giving me a hard time," says the actress that holds the screenplay. Despite the content of the phrase, the way she says it is super sarcastic and cheeky, and I already know that this is how she shows sympathy. Her hair is short and blonde, and her makeup and outfit are on point—despite her flawless psychical appearance, she holds onto a strong, almost palpable energy of pure wild, reckless and youthfulness. "I'm Kelsey Darragh, you must be Mike, right?"

"Yes, you're right. What is the problem, Kelsey?" I smile at her, almost feeling obligated in compensating some of her charismatic mannerism back.

"No matter what I do I can't say this fucking line, I'm sorry," she chuckles, and I love her composure—everything looks like a great time for her, she doesn't even seem to be on her own work, but rather on a playground or a friend reunion. Kelsey seems to be able to find the fun in everything just like Hannah, but, different from my friend, Kelsey doesn't seem to grip on the limits of responsibility; as I thought earlier, reckless, rebellious and almost one hundred percent carefree as if she has never left her teenager phase. "Not saying that you aren't a good writer, on the contrary, this is _too good_ for me to say based on my acting skills. I'm so used in acting on extroverted characters that I don't even know how to say all of this without replacing the deepness of it with irony or jokes, it is too serious," she explains her unusual situation to me. "Also, I'm kinda pissed at what's going on, the fuck-boy character was a jerk with her and all she feels is pity for herself? Like, I want to make her flip the fuck out with this dude all the time I read it!"

"Oh, I totally get it," I say, realizing the uncommonness of my writing. And I start to explain the inconsistency not only for her but for myself as well. "This is the first script I've ever written. Like you, I'm almost used to doing the same thing all the time—screenplays are not my thing, I've only worked with literary texts to this day. So, I'm used in making the things go too artsy with inner-monologues and all, that I forget that in filmmaking the key is what we see on screen, the character's acts and that shit, not in the poetry of the sentences. I guess it needs to feel more real indeed, Kelsey. I would give you the liberty to change some stuff to your point of view... well, if you think this would make it feel more cohesive, of course."

"Really? Would you let me do it my way? Because, not gonna lie, I'm all in favor." She whips her hair to playfully emphasize the sense of superiority in her words, she's just very much self-aware of how showy she looks and she doesn't give a single damn for it.

"I'm not the one to allow this," I laugh. "I think you need to talk to the director first, not me."

"Yeah. That's right. That's great. You're great, by the way." She puts her hand on her waist, looking at me with awe.

"Well, thank you." I flush, honestly flattered. "You're great, too. You opened my eyes to some stuff. Sometimes is nice to go for a change."

"I know! I am _so_ awesome, right? I didn't even do it on purpose." She pouts her bottom lip as she heads for the staff, and I can pick on her faint accent from Florida what actually doesn't surprise me—she couldn't be from anywhere else.


	20. 20

This was probably my most exhausting day at work to this day. I never thought recording a video would bring that much work, and I was only the production assistant, I can't even imagine how stressful it must have been for the director and the actors. We started around 1pm and now are almost 8pm, and we barely even finished yet. Besides me, two actors, and a chunk of the staff, everyone else on the set has left, including Hannah.

The director calls it a day and, from a second to another, I see myself alone in the set. One of the staff members asks me to return an equipment bag to the B section. Without having anyone else to ask for directions, I wander around the place, trying to guess where I should let the bag.

Once I hear the faint sound of voices coming through one of the set's metal doors, I walk myself there, pushing it open lightly. When the passage is open enough for me to distinguish the voices clearly, I feel my stomach trembling. There are three of them. Two of the voices are unknown, while the third one burns inside my ear, waking up a series of memories from last night: Andrew.

I try to pretend that I didn't even see anything, but, when I start closing the door and stepping back, the hinges creak loudly, grabbing the attention of the trio inside the room at my direction. I feel like I look small and dumb in the tiny space between the door and the wall.

An Asian guy with bleached blonde hair grins at me invitingly. "Oh, hi," he pouts. "You need something, little guy?"

"Chester," Andrew immediately salutes me with a serious concealed half-nod. "Come in."

"I—I hope I didn't ruin what you guys are working on."

"You didn't, we already finished it. Come on in, we need your opinion about something. It's important." My boss assures me. As always, dragging me only through his eyes, making me do exactly what he wants without much hesitation. I can already feel my hand palms sweaty, and some specific parts of my body—such as my stomach, face, and lungs—quivering the more under his influence I get.

For all it seems, Andrew was recording one of his cooking shows. He's wearing an apron and a sweaty shirt, and his hair is pulled back, held by pins—even like this, he looks smoking hot... this time, literally. I'm assuming the other two persons in the room are the guys who work with him which he told me yesterday. Adam and Steven as I remember, even though I have any idea of which is which. Besides the one who greeted me promptly, there's a bearded guy with glasses and a camera, fumbling with his equipment and looking down all along, without saying a single word. Something tells me that he seems to be like this all the time, he looks like a very shy and quiet person. Kinda cute, to be honest.

"We need a final vote to decide if this is a good cake or not," Steven explains it to me while Andrew lifts a plate to my height. "Andrew baked it today, but no one in the set today seemed to agree if the final product was good or not."

Andrew forks a piece of the slice on the plate and holds it up to me. My face rises rhythmically with the movement of the clutter until my eyes level with Andrew's. He craves his look of menace into me.

"Say 'ahhh...'" he jokes.

I open my mouth and he slides it right in, slowly. I bite on the cake as he slides it out. It doesn't taste very different from a standard cake.

"It's average," I say after some time chewing on the meal. "It's not bad at all, but there's nothing specifically unique about it, too. It's a good cake."

"That's what Rie said," the quiet guy says it really faintly.

"Were you guys trying to do something different?" I ask to the bleached blonde.

"Sort of," he responds. He was ready to say more, but Andrew cut him off.

"What are you looking for?" His eyes go from me to the bag I hold.

"Oh. Section B. I don't know where it is."

The Asian guy's eyes widen with excitement, "Oh! It's right by—"

"I can take you there." Andrew raises his hand in front of the guy to silence him.

"Okay..." I say, already feeling the invisible string of thrill growing between us.

After saying it was a pleasure meeting Andrew's co-workers, I leave the room with him. By the time we get by ourselves, he runs his arm across my back, resting his hand on my shoulder as we walk. "How was shooting today?" he asks.

"Hum, fine," I mumble.

"I hope it wasn't too much out of your league."

"I was fine. I mean, I don't have a clue if I'm doing it right, but it is something different indeed."

"Is doing something different bad for you?"

"No," I say sincerely. "Far from it. Before those last weeks, I was so comfortable in doing the same things over and over that I'm now urging for doing something out of my league. 'Different' is everything I would consider to be good at this point in my life." Even though our date's aftermath felt such as an incognita for me, I'm glad that the last night's events are making my interactions with Andrew feel more fluent now.

I can hear a distinctive suppressed laugh from him that comes out as a 'hum'. Whatever is his view about my words, it seems to make him eager to say what comes next, "So, in terms of 'different', how far would you allow me to go with you?"

"What?" I really don't get what he means... I think.

"You said that different is good for you. That you enjoy it," he goes on while opening the door of the B sector for me. "Guess what, I like some very specific _things_ that some people would consider it to be different, too."

I turn in order to look him in the eye.

"And you're implying that—whatever this different thing you like is—you're interested in knowing if I would find it enjoyable too?"

"Exactly."

"And what would that be?"

His jaw clenches. He closes the door behind him and then, cleans his throat before crossing his arms.

"What are you doing now?"

"What do you mean?" I let the equipment on the floor.

"Do you have something important to do as soon as you leave here?"

_Is he calling me out again? The day right after?_

"I..." I try coming up with an excuse, but he knows my answer. That's why he asked it because he can read the type of person I am. There's an answer he knows is the right one, and he won't give up on me until he hears it so I will not lose my time with stalling. "No, I don't have anything better to do."

He smirks.

"Wanna hang out?"

Actually, I don't. My day was exhausting and I feel dirty like I could make some good use of a bubble bath and some nice sleep. But for some reason, all I reply back is:

"Where?"

"Nowhere special. I thought about just grabbing some food and chilling in my place. What do you think?"

"Okay, but now? We're both nasty, I mean—look at you! Your clothes are glued to you."

"Is that a problem for you?"

"Yes?"

He starts grinning insidiously. "Why? I could just take all of my clothes off."

A drop of cold sweat drips down the side of my face, and my words stumble on the sudden lump in my throat, unable of getting out.

"Would that be better for you, Chester?" he continues with the teasing, but I outline it.

"I need a bath, Andrew."

"I don't live in the wild, Chester. You can shower in my house."

_That sounds even better—I mean, WORSE! Ah! Fuck!_

"Whatever."

He leans his hand forward, warningly nudging my forearm. "Stop being so bratty."

"Only if you stop being so bossy."

"It's in my blood."

"So, I guess that ends this discussion then." I'm able of sustaining a tiny smile of provocation. He doesn't even need to ask again if I'm going or not; we both know ourselves, we can see it in our eyes.

"I'm getting the car, hold on," he says.


	21. 21

The aromatic pine scent that drifts every time I get inside Andrew's car is already getting too familiar for me.

As well as the awkward, but comfortable, silence that always hangs in the air between us.

As well as the energizing, secretive tension which just seems to get more and more palpable every time we realize that we're by ourselves in the same space.

It's undeniable how the line between co-workers and _something else_ is getting thinner; it scares me, but it smoothes me.

It smoothes me because I feel... _different_ when I'm close to him. In our first hookup yesterday, I discovered a side of me that I didn't know existed, and Andrew seems to make it show up easily. And I like it. A lot.

But it scares me because I can't manage how this is going to end up once the line is completely gone. I can't seem to picture how Andrew feels about all of this, or how he's going to react once I ask him about it... if I ever need to ask, though.

The uncertainty of this plot is killing me, and the possibility of this story closing with a bad ending drags me down all along.

Those thoughts stick with me during the drive and all the way to the supermarket.

"What do you think about frozen lasagna?" Andrew asks me, his deep voice pulling me back together. I eye him; he holds the fridge door open with a knee, sustaining himself in one leg while holding with both hands the package of food, the empty shopping basket dangles free by the handle around the middle of his forearm. His arising left brow urges me to reply as soon as I notice that I'm gawking for too long.

"Cool," I nod quickly.

He stills in the same position, his eyes going from me to the meal. As he starts shoving it inside the metal basket, he stops himself, pulling it right back out. "No, not cool," tutting, he shakes his head. "We better do the real thing. Let's get some flour, I think I have the rest at home."

"Do you mean baking?"

"Yeah, we can help each other."

"Andrew, I don't even know if I can crack an egg properly."

"I can teach you, Chester. Save the whining for later."

"First of all, I'm not whining, just warning. Second, what do you mean 'for later'?"

"You will see."

That's all I get until we're back in the car. The goods are packed in the back seat, their wrapping making sounds as the car bumps in the road, making them collide with each other. The burning downtown of Los Angeles disperses as we arrive at a residential area. The streets' palm trees swing around us under the symphony of the hot breeze of the coast, as if waving me welcomes.

As soon as I see a house popping up by one of the corners, I immediately know it is his. Somehow I just _know_ it. His home is the simplest from all the other ones in the street. All of the wooden walls are painted white with an eye-pleasing contrast of red in the doors and around the frames of the windows; it's a one-story building. The front yard holds no palm trees, instead, it draws me with its delicate gardening, a bold turning point against LA’s flora; it designates peacefulness and beauty where should be energy and buzz. It feels good. It feels like what an actual home would look like.

He stops the vehicle, the car crooked in its parking space. I unbuckle and get outside. I try helping him with the grocery but he holds it all in one hand, invitingly tilting his head for me at the direction of the porch. I walk there and he comes from behind, turning the key on its lock. I'm violated by the faint, trance-inducing smell of humid wood which flies around his living room when the front door is opened.

All of the contents of the room seem to be arranged in a controlled chaos—it matches Andrew's personality perfectly.

"Nice place," I praise.

"Yea. I think we should shower later and cook first since we are probably making a mess with the ingredients. What do you say?" He asks, dodging my compliment.

"Nice," I say along with a half nod, my eyes avoiding contact with his once they get a glimpse of Andrew's coldness creeping into our interaction one more time.

"Let's get started then, apprentice."

~

Andrew made me start with the basic stuff—sieve the flour, scramble the eggs...—while he worked on the sauce and fillings. As I get myself busy with my modus operandi of opening the dough, he calls me, jerking me away from my zoomed out zone of mundane thoughts.

"Hey," he elbows me, and I turn around. Despite him being a total cutie in the apron he's now wearing, Andrew holds me a bowl with the tomato sauce he has been working on during the last minutes while wearing a scowl. "Can you tell me what you think? I can't decide if it needs to be sweeter or saltier."

"Okay," I clean my hands in my own apron, ready to dip my fingers in the mixture when he surprises me: he catches some of the sauce with his index and holds it up for me, close to my mouth.

I hesitate for a slip second, telling my mind that 'Yep! What he wants you to do is _exactly_ what you're thinking, Mike' before bringing my lips to his finger. As soon as I take him in, I try my best in not making this into a big deal, but it's no use. It's no use how Andrew doesn't take his look from above my lips and eyes. It's no use how his scowl comes undone when my tongue wraps around his finger. It's no use how the hair from my nape stands on its end, or how my stomach sloshes in a wave of hot n' cold sensations that are so pleasurable which makes me not want to stick my mouth out of his finger and stop tasting him even once the mixture is gone down my throat.

"It's good," I croak, pulling my lips away and turning around quickly, hoping that my face didn't get red despite the alarming, increasing fire that ignites the spots underneath my cheeks.

"What?" he asks, obviously pretending to not understand my reaction.

"'What' what?" I'm back at the dough.

"Getting ideas?"

My spine tingles.

"No," I lie, overcoming his teasing.

"Oh, yeah? Cuz I certainly am."

My lungs burn with the breath I hold.

"Can I trust you with finishing this and putting it into the oven?" he asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"Gotta take a shower." He takes off his apron and playfully throws it at me before vanishing to the next room.

I finish the last layer of the lasagna and slide it inside the pre-heated oven. I wait until I hear the sound of a door closing in the back of the house, followed by one of running water, so I can remove my apron and wander in the direction Andrew once headed.

I push one door open, catching myself in his room. His king-size bed is not made up and there are some random pieces of clothing scattered in certain spots of the floor, he doesn't seem to care about me seeing any of his mess—oddly, I feel it's almost like he assumed I'm used with it.

The rest of the place is kinda tidy, though. As I get closer to the bed, I allow my eyes to crawl over his rack of vinyl discs until something catches my attention.

I stay closer, squinting my view to make sure I saw it right. The feel of liberty that this whole house-situation brings me gets the best of me, and I pull the cover out of the shelf. The color explosion of red, yellow, blue and green printed on the art of the paper spellbinds me when I slide my fingers across the title of the album.

It's _Who will cut our hair when we're gone?_ , by The Unicorns.

I'm so taken aback at the sight of the disc that I don't even notice the water-running sound slipping through the silence. I only notice Andrew's heavy presence weighing behind my shoulder blades one second before he says, "What's wrong?"

I turn not even getting easily unstabilized by seeing his wet lean body, completely naked except for the towel that hangs around his waistline, the water drops sliding across his torso, getting captured in the way by the strands of his chest hair.

"Nothing's wrong. I just never met someone who had this album before."

He smiles.

"Well, of course, I never knew it myself until—" he stops himself abruptly; his face going from dreamy to dreadful in less than a second, and then flinching into pity as he scans for a reaction in my features with an unpictured reason for it. So weird.

"Until what?" I encourage.

"Doesn't matter," he dodges. "Go take your shower. I spared some clean clothes for you in there." And he turns away from me in order to ruffle through the drawers to find something for himself.

"Okay..." I mumble, stepping through the threshold.

The door is closed and I'm left with the imprint of the previous shower; the steamy air around me enveloping my body as I walk to the counter below the foggy mirror.

Andrew let me a soccer shirt and brief boxers as clean clothes. At any other circumstances, I wouldn't wear this... but they are _his_ soccer shirt and brief boxers. And I already can't wait to finish my bathing to slide them on me.

Only after I undress and get inside the box, I see something different in the bathroom; under the sink. It's so out of place that I would consider it to be singular.

A dog's collar and leash.


	22. 22

I get out only to stumble across Andrew leaning on the kitchen's counter, wearing a wife-beater tank top and some long, plaid red pants.

_Did I mention that he's hot? Oh, yeah, he's burning hot. Silly me._

"Is it good already?" I ask him.

"Almost there," he shakes his head, his gaze going through me head to toe. When it stops in my features, Andrew is already embracing a smirk on his face. "I like seeing you wearing my clothes very much."

 _Same_ , I think but I don't say it aloud. Despite being way too baggy for me, they feel perfect and comfortable on my skin. I don't feel like stop wearing his clothes so soon.

"Do you wanna put some music while I set the table ready?" he asks, I nod.

"Sure."

“‘Kay. The vynil player is in my room, suit yourself." He tells me and goes to the cutlery drawers.

I get inside the room again and start going over his collection one more time. I think about putting The Unicorns' album on, but then I see the disc that stills in the player. It's a Rolling Stones one. I turn it on, after taking my time with getting the needle in the right spot so 'Beast of Burden' starts playing.

When I get back to the kitchen, Andrew's practically finished with the table. "I knew that, if you picked this album, you would have chosen this song," he says as soon as he sees me close by.

"Why?"

"Because I think the lyrics are just like you," he croaks in a tone that settles it: he doesn't want to keep talking further about this.

I still don't understand why this song should be similar to me since I never properly stopped to study its lyrics. But anyway, I don't care though, so I just shrug it off.

"Not saying it's bad, though," he goes over it again, "it's a great song."

"Saying I'm great, I see," I force myself to pretend I'm feeling it, maybe if I mimic Kelsey's self-confidence I'm able to make it real eventually. "Don't worry, I already know it."

"Showy much?" he laughs, the oven bell rings and he picks his glove to open it.

"Said the humble one," I mock sarcastically.

"I have my reasons," Andrew picks the lasagna up, and I'm immediately taken over by its delicious smell; this must be really good.

"You're the first person I know that is so secure in reminding others how much he enjoys himself."

"I told you I'm different. And that's just the tip of the iceberg, Mouse." He analyzes the dish from all its perspectives. "Yeah, this came out great."

He grabs it up again in order to take it to the dinner table, I follow him there, letting myself get distracted by the surroundings of his place one more time; this isn't like any house I've seen in Los Angeles before.

"What made you choose this place, Andrew?"

"Why ask?"

"It seems so... out of place—in a good way! Don't get me wrong." I pull my chair back as he finishes with the cutlery.

"I know what you mean," he sits down. "I decided to decorate my house like this because this is what I think is missing in L.A."

"How could something be missing in LA? It's the biggest city in the whole country; you can find anything in here." I push on, sitting along.

"Yes, you're right. You can find anything... but you can't _have_ anything."

"What are you saying?"

He tutts, "This city, the people who live here—everything is way too bright. LA has this obsessive need of being sunny all the time for everyone, I think that shine makes people blinded with their conceptions of how to feel about themselves. This city makes people think they _have_ to be sunny, bright and loud the whole time, and when those people feel down or gloomy they end up thinking they're wrong to feel like this. This place," he opens his arms to emphasize the surroundings of the house, "it's my daily reminder of sanity. It's my safe spot where I can use to remember myself that is okay to feel down, that is okay not to feel too bright and extravagant all the time. Sadness is a necessary feeling for all of us and we shouldn't be ashamed to show it. Simplicity is necessary."

"And what a guy like you would have to feel sad for?" I ask, and he stops mid-sentence. He glares me with an ambiguous look at the same time a lump forms in his throat.

"Nothing relevant," he says and turns to his plate, ready to get some of his meal.

~

Our lasagna was probably the best lasagna I've ever eaten.

We ate pretty much in silence, our conversation didn't get further than that; it was reserved for chitchat and small, mundane talk. However, there's something about Andrew that makes even the most frivolous chat feels somewhat interesting for me.

Once we finished, he begins:

"Forgot to ask," his eyebrows rise as if he has just remembered something obvious. "You feel like drinking something?"

"Hm... ok. What do you got there?"

He stands up and walks to the refrigerator, opens the door and studies the content of its insides. "Not much," he assumes. "Is just beer okay?"

The sound of the name of the beverage drapes into my perception, and covers my ability of straight thinking, avoiding me of giving him an answer right away; I'm left with a silence of hesitation. I must admit I'm kinda uneasy about this. Drinking with him again, I mean...

"There's something—?"

"Non-alcoholic?" he chimes in; Andrew already scanned me. "Water."

After a brief silence of inner-conflict, I say, "Water is okay."

He scoffs and huffs, pulling the cradle out of the fridge. He walks to the table, opens it, grabs one beer bottle for himself and then another one... sliding it to my side of the table as he gets back to his seat. Andrew puts his elbows above the table and conjoins his fingers together, hands open down under his nose. He craves his unmistakable mixture of light and dark of eyes into mine and continues with a concealed and firm tone:

"I'm not going to oblige you to do anything that you don't want to, Chester. I mean— _unless_ you're into this, then we can work it out. But if you eager into starting something else with me, you have to be eager to start breaking your own limits."

What he just said shocks me, and despite knowing what he's trying to imply, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"Simple: do you want to drink the water, Chester?"

I lower my head; somehow I'm feeling guilty just like a kid being caught in a lie.

"No," I admit.

"Then you don't _fucking_ tell me that you want to drink water," the way he just bluntly and rudely cusses in the middle of a mature statement only makes me feel more scolded. "If you want to do something, you _do_ it. And you don't have to be ashamed of wanting it, you shouldn't be afraid of what you desire; you should run after it and not give up until you get it. That's the first step to become something in life."

"What are you trying to prove?"

"I'm trying to prove that you might need me. I can teach you things, Chester. I can show you a whole new world of opportunities, but you have to have the guts of getting on the ship and embarking into the unexplored seas."

"For example...?" I try my best not to stutter, somehow I know where this is going and, just like sooner, the uncertainty of the outcome scares me, but it is a different kind of scare; I like to feel scared, I like to feel threatened under his presence because once I'm threatened I realize I got a life to feel threatened about after all, what makes me feel alive. Finally alive.

He gives an intake of breath, thinking for a while before popping the bottle open with his thumb and index—yes, with his _fingers_!

"I believe that in the world there are two types of people; the ones meant to command," he takes a sip of this drink, "and the ones made to obey." I glance at my closed bottle of beer. "And you shouldn't be ashamed of the one you are, because that's who are you meant to be in the first place. It's in our hierarchical order from nature. That's why the thing is: I'm tired of seeing you trying to be something you're not. Trying to deceive yourself. I wanna make you embrace it, Chester."

I don't reply immediately.

"What you plan on doing to me then, Andrew?" I shot him a glance.

"What do you want me to do with you?"

I shrug.

"See?" he points out. "You're doing it again. Trying to hide it," he leans forward. "I know how bad you want _it_ to happen, Chester. How even exhausted from work you agreed on coming here, to my house, and even though is too reluctant to even drink alcohol. That's how bad you want it, but how insecure you feel about it." He smirks. "I can see everything about you; your breathing getting heavier right now, adrenaline kicking it, soon you will begin to flush and once I start getting closer to you," as he says to me, he reaches his foot to my leg, gliding it up and down my exposed skin, "you'll press your thighs together in order to avoid any possible erection of getting evident on this skimpy underwear you're using, one which I did not choose you to wear by accident." He grins menacingly.

I'm speechless; aroused and numb at the same time.

"Why don't you just give in, Mouse?" he murmurs, and even for the certain distance, his voice trickles down my spine; goose bumps all over, head to toe. "Give in and let me show you everything."

"But..." I mumble pathetically, unable to keep eye contact with him. "What is it that you wanna show me?"

The movement he does with his foot down my leg stops and he makes a pause before jolting up, "Come here."

I follow him further into the living room. He guides me close to a couch and says straightforward, "Sit."

I do as he says, and he grabs a basket of yarns of wool from under the living room table.

"Do you have a pet?" I ask, remembering from when I was taking a shower.

He stops and looks at me with a surprised look.

"What makes you say that?"

"There were a leash and collar in your bathroom and now you just happen to walk with yarn?"

"They are actually because I knit."

My eyes widen.

"You knit?"

He nods, there's something different about his response. I... think he's shy?

"That's cute," I say sincerely, and he raises his head back at me. "It's a unique hobby foremost. And you're probably the last one I imagined to have it."

"Well, that's kind of part of the thing I've been wanting to tell you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Knitting?"

"Yes, you know... I _do_ plan to get a pet."

My raised brow of unclarity stays strong. _What does this have to do with sex?_ I hope he gets the message.

"What are you—?" I start, but he answers by cutting me off.

"I don't date people. I _own_ them."

My heart pinches and hardens, my spine ices.

"I'm sorry?"

He sighs, sitting by my side, basket on his lap.

"My relationships. I like to act as a master... and my partner as a pet." He enlightens it.

I need a moment to recover myself, when I finally do, I continue:

"So... you're saying that you want to treat me as an animal?"

"And you have to treat me as your owner. I'll give you orders and you'll have to obey them."

"What happens if I don't?"

He smiles; I can also now see the adrenaline in himself. "You get punished."

"And what is the punishment?"

"It can be more than one thing; chastity, gagging, hitting..." I'm spellbound by how he talks about this to me so casually.

"Define hitting."

"You name it."

"Everything? All the ways around?"

He nods.

"Kicking, slapping, and punching? In all parts?"

He replies me with a nod again, this time with a hint of effort.

"Wow... that's... hardcore."

He lowers his head, his elbow resting on his bent knee while he runs his fingers through his hair. "I know. There's anything more you wanna ask?"

"Hm... so... sex itself to you—how is it? Rough?"

"Usually, but sometimes it can go further than that."

"'Further'?" It takes all the effort in me for not to stutter.

"Yes. I can work with some soft bondage sometimes."

"That's all?"

"No. I also like to be vile. Like, really vile and deviant. To the point of possibly causing psychological damage in someone who's not into that." He continues to explain it in a serious manner, warning me with a noticeable pinch of concern, patience and maybe compassion in his words by being the most straightforward as possible. "I'm being blunt to you because I want you to actually be sure about it, to be _consciously_ sure about it."

"But," I start already fidgeting with my knees, and then I stop and stare at him with all of the effort inside of me. "I don't know," I sigh. "I mean, I've never been in a serious relationship before, nonetheless in one close to something like... _this_."

"Oh," Andrew lowers his head at the sight of my words, but he seems far from surprised about the fact I've just spilled. "It may be quite the radical change for you, right?"

I nod. But I want this, I want to be with Andrew, I unquestionably want him to be mine, and me to be completely his. Just at the thought of engaging in this relationship with him, even for the most unusual that it all is, my mind gets fuzzy, my heart tingly—everything in me darts towards Andrew somehow, like the needle of a compass never letting go of the North. It's something which I'm sure of, but that I'm not sure about how to bring myself up to externalize it.

"What about I let you get a glimpse of it?" he offers with eager.

"A glimpse?"

"Yeah, you know, show you what all is about but tuned a little bit down."

"Don't tell me I'll have to go through another test-drive to see if I'm fit for a job," I tease and he chuckles.

"It will be kinda like that," he starts unraveling the yarn around his fingers with lidded eyes. "But you'll like this one. I promise."

"Then what you're planning on doing with me?" I ask, faking an innocent tone which he picks up on quickly and proceeds to jump into the game.

"Me? I'm not doing anything." In an insidiously tone of malice, he grabs my wrists from my lap, twisting the wool around them, keeping it all together. "You are."

 _Am I?_ I'm actually caught off guard by this. What does he mean? He erases my doubts before I can even ask them when he pulls me by my chin, forcing our gazes to lock on each other.

"I won't fuck you, Chester. Not yet. Not until I get my definite answer," despite the vulgarity of his words, he tells me it in an almost instructive way. As if he was lecturing me patiently. "But I can give you a taste of what's to come."

With a quick and brusque movement of hands, he clinches the knot in my cuffs made of yarn, the tiny ropes tightening my skin. Right after, he brings me to turn all the way towards him on the couch, craving his predatory eyes on me. He lays me down and hovers on top of me as he passes my arms above my head; he's tying the other end of the rope to the wooden halt of the sofa's arm.

My nose touches his, our mouths just an inch from being together. I wanna kiss him so bad, but I hold myself back. If Andrew is all about controlling me, I believe this would be against his virtues. However, he stays hovering above me, allowing the heat of his body to spread across mine as the puffs of our nervous breaths collide to each other’s.

"Andrew..." I breathe his name into his half-open lips, and the way his breathing increases in weight after I do makes the skin of the back of my neck to prickle.

"Hey, no speaking now, okay?" he gropes my cheeks together with one hand, his thumb above my mouth. "Unless you want me to lose control, but I don't wanna make things ugly for you. Not right now." He smiles lustfully. "What I want now is for you to open your mouth."

I do as he says immediately; his lips curve up in a satisfied grin. Andrew gets on his knees over the sofa and between my legs, and he looks at me as he starts lowering down his pants. "Are you going to be a good boy for me tonight?"

I nod with my mouth still wide open. "Good," he states crudely. And then, Andrew clambers over me, sitting with spread legs open above my chest, his crotch rubbing on my chin. He reaches his hand for my mouth and places his thumb and index between my teeth, his fingers pressing on my tongue, "I won't hear to any nagging, understood? If you have a problem during it, then learn how to shut up and deal with it because I won't be fucking caring."

Finally, he pushes his boxers down and his length pops out above my face. I'm immediately spellbound by the musky scent that exiles from it as his manhood rests above my nose. I start breathing heavier against him, longing and desperately craving for tasting it.

As if noticing how eager I am, Andrew playfully teases me by rubbing himself across my face while denying me all along to take it inside. Every time I think I can finally taste it, he brushes his length farther from my mouth and I suddenly start getting this crashing feel of frustration—a different kind of one; at the same time it makes me impatient, it also makes me hornier and the idea of blowing him off more and more appealing to me. I know that if only I lean my head closer I can finally grab it with my mouth and finish this apprehension, however, I know what he's trying to do. Andrew's testing me, trying to make me break so he can 'punish' me, but I won't fall for it. I'll be a good boy and make him proud.

"Do you like this, puppy? Being denied to suck a cock?" he scoffs with menace, his voice husky and wheezed. Andrew continues to rub himself back and forth across the side of my face, when he starts dripping with pre-cum I begin losing it.

I whimper, trying to hold back as much as I can from practically begging him to fuck my mouth already, and it fuels his trick.

"Yeah, I told you would whimper," he grins and sighs as his back and forth intensifies. He keeps my lips apart, his fingers playing with my tongue. I mouth them, wetting his digits, his smile goes wider. "Someone looks eager."

All I respond is a muffled pant; his cock is pulsating on me with pre-cum dripping by my cheek. Suddenly, I'm hit by this wave of an intense urge of touching myself, but my hands are tied. I try humping the air to relieve some of the tension, but having Andrew sitting on me makes it difficult. He knew it. This was his intention. He's putting me on edge to implore being mouth-fucked by him. And it's working, it's driving me mad. I whimper again, closing my eyes shut and squirming myself underneath his weight.

"Will you allow me to end up like this, pup? Me cumming outside of you?" as he teases me with this question, I shot him a glance, a plea with no words. "If I keep on like this I might finish it soon. Would you handle it, pup? Would you handle the frustration of letting me cum and not tasting it? Of wasting my load?"

I cry loud and open my mouth wide again, panting heavily and letting his fingers out. "No... Sir," I pant finally, my words are almost inaudible.

"Atta boy," he whispers and ruffles his hand through my hair, pulling my head back, turning my chin up and making my lips lightly brush on the strains of pre-cum from his throbbing length. It drives me so crazy that fizzles my thoughts. "Make sure to open wide, I won't hear to any objections once I bury myself in."

Submissively, and at the very second that he orders me, I part my lips the farthest as them can go and take a deep breath. His cock makes its way through my tongue and teeth as I mouth him. _Fuck!_ He's bigger than he seems to be.

"Oh, s-shit!" Andrew cusses in a strained puff of libidinous breath. I can feel his knee slightly shaking at the sides of my chest bones, so I decide to mess with him even more, sliding my tongue over the tip of his manhood. His grip tightens on my hair, clear evidence that I found one of his possible soft spots. The discovery encourages me to keep exploring his body, and I start making my tongue swirl all around his shaft. "That's it... f-fuck!"

Andrew unexpectedly thrust his length down my throat, and I fight my gag reflex. He's all the way to the base, his body hair scrapping under my nose, where Andrew's musk rises the stronger. The scent, along with his nonstop, crude humping, leaves me dizzy. I'm intoxicated by Andrew's taste, smell and power; my body and spirit weaken and, for a minute, any part of me seems to be capable of obeying the commands of my shattered mind. It only obeys to him now. For this moment, I'm nothing more than this automatic tool. And—gosh!—I _adore_ it.

"Oy," Andrew gently slaps one of my cheeks in order to pique my interest. "Open your eyes. I want you to look at me."

When I glance him with watery eyes, Andrew is wild and ferocious. His mouth askew as he bites his lower lip with gritted teeth and losing his breath all at the same time in an unbridled mess, his face a vicious frown shimmering with sweat. I press my throat tighter, my tongue wrapping itself around him, laboring his movements at the same amount that it makes it more pleasurable for both of us.

Andrew moans carelessly, eliciting one sound of my own, suffocated by his junk. The voluptuous cacophony that starts between us it's probably the hottest sound I've ever heard in my life, and it just helps to make us closer. The underwear I'm wearing gets soaked, stained with a huge wet patch, and Andrew unloads himself inside my mouth. It takes all of my inner control and patience for me not to choke with his load. After he finishes, I take my time to swallow his warmth.

Andrew sighs for one last time and removes himself from above me. Untying my cuffs, he rests his back on the couch, we both panting and sweating. After a while, he glances my body and watches with indifference the wet underwear I'm wearing. His bland, tired face becomes a snarl, "Did I tell you could cum?"

I wasn't allowed to orgasm? Are we still "playing"? "No, Sir. I'm sorry, I was too horny I couldn't help myself," I say embarrassed and facing away.

"Sit down," he interrupts coolly. When I see myself by his side, Andrew wraps his arm over my shoulder, guiding his mouth to my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine as he whispers, "If you were mine, by now I would be beating the shit out of your ass for that."

"I'm sorry, master," I respond after a brief moment of feeling like a prude because of my embarrassment. "I'm sorry I can't be a good boy for you."

Even though I'm not directly looking at him, I can feel the warming heat of his smirk pulsing through my veins. "You were good enough; you just need more discipline, that's all." As he says this, he ruffles his hand through my hair. My heart stops. For the first time, Andrew touches me in a way which isn't formal, crude or sexual-induced.

He.

Cuddles.

Me.

I try to hold back my smile, but it's no use. My joy needs to materialize itself somehow, and it forces my lips to curve up. My stomach gets cold, and my heart jumpy. I can't remember the last time I ever felt like this, but it's so comfortable that I ask myself how was I able to forget about when it happened before (and probably addicting, too, because I catch myself suddenly wishing Andrew could keep doing this to me over and over again).

"Now let's get you some new clean clothes, okay?" he coos softly, increasing my heartwarming.

He walks me back to his room, never letting go of my wrist, and leaves me by the vinyl as he goes inside the bathroom to find another set of undies. The humming sound of the player needle scratching the empty part of the disc bothers me, so I reach it in order to change the sound. The Rolling Stones are replaced with The Unicorns, and I put my favorite song in the album to play: _Jellybones_.

As I wait for him, I try to fathom the intangibleness of this whole situation just like I did on my last date with him—opposite from our first time, now I don't know what to think. I know I don't feel quite ashamed or impressed of what just happened between us in the same way as I did yesterday; my tables have change. Now I gotta question myself if I really want to push this further. Similar to what Andrew said to me sooner at the table about the ship in the unexplored seas, I see a new door open for me, I just need to know if the uncertainty of what awaits for me behind it is worth my effort of entering it.

However, I'm not on my best state of mind to be thinking about this. If my whole day of work at BuzzFeed wasn't enough, the intercourse with Andrew seems to be tugging on my last piece of strength. I take the total liberty of lying on his bed, embracing the blank page of my thoughts getting filled by the lyrics of the music.

The song it's in my favorite part. And I close my eyes lazily as I mouth its final lyrics.

 

_But this is love, so we'll survive_

_This is love, so we'll survive_

_This is love..._


	23. 23

It’s the greatest alien feeling for me to wake up seeing a different ceiling first thing in the morning. For the first time in years, I can glance a drywall which isn’t covered with cracks and peeling paint. And it feels game-changing. It’s like when you change a lightbulb that had been broken for months, and when you finally turn the light on you start taking notice of innumerable details in the room that you weren’t able to see before, and then you start to wonder how did you ever live without that before.

Sometimes we get so used with the darkness of a broken lightbulb that we think the light isn’t necessary for us anymore.

I missed this. I missed having something I never had before.

I toss and turn around the mattress, stretching myself as my arm reaches for my side, automatically searching for Andrew’s presence. He isn’t here. But I can feel him everywhere over my mind and my surroundings since there’s a potent smell of coffee which seems to come from the kitchen.

I sit up straight, still getting used with my laziness. I don’t remember when I doze off yesterday; I just shut down like an old TV during a thunderstorm. I climb out of bed and head outside, finding him sitting by the counter sipping from a mug of coffee. Andrew’s already wearing his social pants, shoes, and shirt. I kinda miss the suit and tie. When he notices my approach, he raises both of his eyes from the table and locks them on me, but he only speaks after finishing taking a long sip from his drink.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” I reply, getting closer to the table.

“I was about to wake you up,” he continues and tilts his head to the coffee machine. “Want some?”

“Sure,” I nod while grabbing a clean cup. When filling my mug, I take interest over the fact that my old set of underwear has been changed to a new clean one. “Did you... did you change me last night? After I went to sleep?” I turn at him.

Andrew stops briefly as if making sure his memory hasn’t forgotten such a ‘trivial’ inadequacy, “Oh, yeah. I did.” He gifts me with a witty, playful smile before taking the coffee to his lips again.

I sit down facing him, and before I say anything, he lifts a shopping bag from underneath the counter and slides it at my direction.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“New clothes. For you. I figured that the ones you used yesterday were dirty and that you didn’t want to wear them again today. So I put them on the dirty laundry and brought this for you.”

“Oh...” I suddenly feel ashamed. “You didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to. Please, just accept it,” he cuts me off.

I lay my eyes on the bag without saying a word. Even though this is really embarrassing, there’s something at the back of my mind which gets all excited to recognize the fact that Andrew just went through all the trouble just to buy something specially for me. “Thank you,” I quietly say. “That was really... caring of you.” And thoughtful. And sweet. And cute. And perfect.

He just shrugs it away. Typical. But I don’t seem to care so much for his lack of proper emotions like I used to some days ago.

After drinking my coffee and eating some toast, I see myself back into his car again. Andrew is with his full look now, his suit and tie making he look like somebody else; someone even more attractive and responsible. I’m with the clothes he bought me—a black-and-white horizontally striped t-shirt and a pair of normal dark jeans. They fit me perfectly and are the exact style of clothing I would wear to the job or any other place. I’m taken aback by Andrew’s impressive observative and deductive capacities when it seems to be about my personality.

Andrew’s palm has been laying on my thigh the whole ride by now, and I hope he never removes it.

His thumb rubs over the fabric, making small circles on my leg. The touch seems so intimate and yet so natural for both of us that I ask myself if he had done it to me before and I just don’t remember it, as if it was something already common for him to do. Despite the increasing silence between us, I’ve never felt so relaxed as I am now. I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable with being in silence in someone else’s company. So much that I actually feel disappointed as I begin to recognize the streets we’re in, realizing that soon we’ll be at work, get separated from each other, and start the act of pretending anything went down. At least this time it will be only for our coworkers.

“I... I’ll have to stop here,” he says after a while, and I feel somewhat of hesitation—like he was scared for saying that and had been holding it back for several minutes.

“I understand.” I lower my head. People can’t see me and Andrew getting out of the same car and arriving together at work. “It’s fine,” I sigh, and without turning, I feel his magnetism drawing my face to his, but I resist and don’t look at him as he pulls over by an empty sidewalk.

The engines from the vehicle settle, becoming a toned down, continuous hum which I can’t say precisely if it’s just the motor rambling or the sound of our heartbeats echoing as they collide to their chest bones while withering. Maybe it’s a junction of both.

“Will you think about what I told you?”

“Yes. I will. I _definitely_ will.”

I turn to him, surprised to encounter his face shimmering with a beaming and hopeful look. Instinctively, Andrew raises his hand from my leg to tug at some strands of the hair behind my ear.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Cause I’m dying to have you all for myself.”

His palm opens and covers my exposed nape, guiding my face closer to his. Andrew stops himself once our lips are just one inch of finally touching, and I’m left trying desperately to catch the breath that his spell steals from me. I never thought I would be yearning this hard for someone to kiss me. But he doesn’t close the gap. Andrew’s breathing appeases as he slowly withdraws from me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask worryingly.

“I... just... don’t want to create any type of expectations between us, I don’t wanna be impulsive like I was with you some days ago.” He rests back into his seat, unlocking the doors and taking a plastic bag from the back compartment. He hands me the content as he asks me again almost like a mantra, “Please, make the right choice.”

“Okay...” I nod, getting myself out of the vehicle. After a few feet away from the street I was in, I look for what’s inside the grocery bag.

It’s the same bottle of beer Andrew offered me yesterday. The one I was so afraid to drink.

It stills closed.

 

~

 

“What do you think it’s the right choice anyway?” Kelsey’s chirpy voice reaches me faintly from behind a wall of elephant-weighted thoughts; it’s like hearing someone else’s muffled calling when you’re underwater.

“Sorry?” I turn, apologizing for being so oblivious today on set.

Kelsey huffs and puffs exasperated, she seems tired of having to repeat to me the same things over and over. “Today you seem to be worse than me when during my period. Will you help me improve your own script or what?” She puts her hands on the waist, the screenplay pages dangling by her tilted hips.

“I will. Don’t mind me. What do you want again?”

“Should the girl character considered engaging in a relationship with the guy she isn’t sure really likes her, or she shouldn’t let it go and continue with her own life? I particularly think we should go with the second option, I mean, having her being the girlfriend of a guy that only used her in their first meet it’s kinda unpleasant if you ask me. I think making her decline his offer would make her way more of a strong character.”

I sigh.

“I don’t know, Kelsey.”

“I mean, what if it goes wrong between them?”

“And what if goes right?”

“But there’s no way of knowing it. The script ends right after she makes her decision. I think if she refused to stay with the guy, it would make a proper ending than of letting it open for interpretation. Not to say it wouldn’t be such a cliché nonetheless.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter the fact that the definitive ending is unknown. At least not for her. If this girl were a real person, what would she have to lose? She is still young with her whole life ahead of her. She I’ll never know if she will be happy or not if she doesn’t try in the first place.”

“Mike, we’re talking about a movie character. Things can’t just end unresolved for her as it would be in real life. Isn’t the point of storytelling the exact nature of escaping our frustrations of reality?”

Her last words sink into me, making my heart dance in a complicated dance.

_But what if my reality was exactly what I wanted it to be? What if I don’t want it to be like in a story anymore? What fun would it be of continuing in a plot which I already know how’s going to end anyway? Maybe... maybe I don’t want things to be just like in one of my stories. Maybe there’s no fun in having it all exactly how I planned in an outlined script..._

“Mike!” Kelsey snaps her fingers in front of me. “I’m talking to you.”

“Oh, sorry.” I get off my seat in the movie set. “I... You... Do whatever you want, Kelsey,” I sigh. “I need to go.”

I leave without saying another word. Some minutes after, I’m wandering inside the main office, longing for my chair. “Do you guys need my help with anything around here?” I ask the small group close by my place range as I sit down.

“You fell from the heaven, Mike!” says Zach as if he had been waiting for someone to say something like that for a long time. “Can you check some links I’ll send you?”

“Sure.”

Zach sends me some Wikipedia pages about Greek mythology and, before I can ask, he explains to me that he’s working on a project related to the subject which is due only two days from now. Then he asks me to keep an eye for relevant information, so I can select and deliver it to him later.

As I’m going through boxes and boxes of texts which I couldn’t be less interested in, my mind naturally drifts away from the computer screen and lays on the beer bottle Andrew gave me sooner.

I’m invaded by peacefulness as soon as I directly remember him. This used to happen before, but now—after yesterday—it feels more tangible than the other times. The energy courses through my body as if it was a part of me; the hair in the back of my head stands on its end when I remember the kiss; the world around me goes silent in order to listen to all the things I remember him saying; and the skin above my left thigh—just where he rested his hand sooner—burns as if Andrew were a branding iron, letting his permanent mark on my soul. As if his touch has never left.

Will I ever find someone else that will induce all of this on me again? I’m 24 years old and it’s the first time ever I’ve felt like this towards a guy, and I never thought I ever would at this point in my life. Maybe it’s like some people say: What if this just happens once in a lifetime? If I deny Andrew’s offer, will I ever have a similar chance with anyone else? Will I ever have someone _better_ than Andrew? Right now, it doesn’t seem like it. It seems impossible for me to see any better life without him. It seems absurd to me just to think about the possibility of someone better than him existing out there.

I get up, the beer bottle in my hands.

_Why am I overthinking this?_

That’s what’s wrong with me. I’m always thinking too much. Too much about where my life supposedly is supposed to be when it isn’t. Too much about what the others will think. Too much about whether or not I should do what I want to do.

_Isn’t seeing Andrew what I wanted in the first place?_

_Maybe he’s right_ , I come to this conclusion as shivers take the supremacy of my body. I _need_ to explore the unexplored.

I march straight to his room, not paying attention to anyone around me and ignoring everything on my way.

I don’t knock on the door.

Andrew’s golden gems bore into me with ease as if he was already waiting for this exact moment which I would storm into his office.

He brushes his folders and documents aside as he puts his elbows over the table, and asks, “You got something to tell me, I suppose.”

I don’t say anything. I lift my hand which holds onto the bottle and I crack the lid open, taking a sip right after.

Andrew smiles, his lips constricting to suppress a wicked laugh, and he stands up, slowly loosening his tie.

“Get to your knees.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop a comment. I'm also open to suggestions!


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